Broken Wings to Purple Nails

Another heartstring pulled producing painful music. The past 6 months have been very difficult. A darling aunt moving away with her son, who is my sunshine (the son). A doctor friend going back to India. A friend moving out of the county with his two little boys. A chef friend who had to go back to her home country.

All the good people that come into my heart walk out of my life. I consider them as core support people with whom I share plates, tears and a wide display of teeth. The void that occurs in the absence of these loving people is wing breaking. The ability to soar seems plucked out one feather at a time.

I know or so I have been told – Happiness is just around the corner. I know, or so I have been told,  you need to walk the block and meet happiness at that corner. I know, or so I have been told, to take a leap of faith and fly. But my loyalty to others makes me reluctant to take that walk down the block or that flight off the cliff. Wishing things hadn’t changed…

My heart gets restless and is not at peace. The course of life seems cruel. The chaos after people leave, that stability being pulled out of me made me look deeper into myself. Others tried to reach out but couldn’t reach in because I did not allow them. Perhaps, the beginning of an inward awakening?

One person however never bulged. Although my silence was disturbing to many including myself, this tower of strength did not step back. It did not step forward, either. It patiently and caringly watched as I muddled my way through. I had been caught up in a storm and certainly closed my eyes hoping for it to pass. But this lighthouse stood right there beaming, calling me safely ashore.

I wasn’t ready. I had to recluse. I had to dig myself deeper into my burrow. Curl up closer to the core of my shell. I gave up on everything that I ever cared about. It didn’t matter how I looked, didn’t care what I wore, didn’t matter if I went anywhere, and didn’t care if it was day or night. In the course of the journey, I gained 40 lbs.

It took 15 notes including 7 “I love you[s]” to shake off the dust that had settled. I was somehow ready to open my arms unfurl my wings. The beam of the lighthouse beckoned. Not calling my name but shining ever so gently. I raised my eyelids. I looked at my surroundings. The storm has passed, at least for now. My lifeboat is floating on live waters.

Suddenly I realized that I had a coupon from Mario Tricoci that needed to be used. I booked myself an appointment. I walked through the double doors and met my manicurist. Athena meticulously shaped my nails, got them cleaned and buffed. It was time for a coat. She modestly suggested clear. I had always admired Emily Blunt’s purple nails in The Devil Wears Prada. My voice jumped out at Athena, exclaiming, “What about purple?”

Athena said, “Why not?” I used it as an affirmation to my freedom of expression. On came the topcoat followed by the rich royal dark shiny purple. Two of those regal coats finished by the topcoat, and I felt great. Purple nail polish may be a more common practice among women but I felt I had to break the mold. I knew I wasn’t the first one, but it sure was my first time. A lot of women wear pants but we don’t call them men for doing so. Why claim territories by gender? I tell myself Que Sera Sera. I wear my purple nails with Pride, wherever I go.

I have never been good at good byes. There sure is an emptiness when something moves out. But it also makes room for movement. Healed to an extent, I mend myself. I step inward and then take a step out. I take that leap of faith. I greet happiness around the corner. I trace the outlines of my wings in the reflection of life’s mirror.

With borrowed light from the lighthouse. With partial self-motivation. With a lot of encouragement from loved ones. I gather willingness and ability to spread my wings. And in the flash of a moment, just like that flash from the lighthouse, it all comes back to me. The known steps and stops to take me further and farther. I fly with a new focus. Like Mr. Mister sings, “Take these broken wings and learn to fly again… Learn to live so free.”

  • Pratik Mamtora

Pratik Mamtora, Managing Editor

MamtoraPratik Mamtora was born & raised in India. He has lived in London, United Kingdom for three years & absolutely loved it there. Pratik has a Bachelor’s in English from India and Master’s (ABD) from UNA. He loves to read and write, especially poetry. Pratik enjoys coffee & conversation and is passionate about serving the community. He invests himself in understanding the needs of the modern world and the evolving spirituality within. Pratik is known to walk that extra mile to make others happy. If you ever meet… or when you meet him, Pratik will make you smile.

 

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