Later, when the lamp inside me had flickered, shone bright, almost died and rose again, finally to give way to a steady, warm gleam that is no longer as restless, as directionless as youth had been, I look at myself again. Gone are the days when I dreamed like crazy, when I believed in that miracle that I’ve been secretly chosen for, one that no one else would know or find. That little girl, that adolescent who grew up thinking the world is hers and some day, one day, magic would befall, was now grown up; perhaps, she was tired too!
But, is this the light I had always been looking for? While it is part of it, yet, it is perhaps not the same light that I had been looking for all this while, I wonder…
This light… it works in me in a strange way. While it is the light, it is as well as its own shadow. It is bright, and it is darkness too - in the shape of hope, as well as in despair. It is kind, and then, it is ruthless too. It shows me the way, and then it takes it away. It unifies all that’s virtuous inside me, and all that I want improve upon. It creates in me a mission, and then, it makes me lose my way in it too. It starts in me a dream, and then it puts before me the hurdles that would not let me get at it – because, it wants me to cross the oceans and the seas. It kindles in me the need to do what I love, and the sense of grief of not having got there where I should have gone. And yet, it leads me.
But then I ask myself - what is this light, really?