Have you ever felt that you are living someone else’s life all along and your real-life awaits you, someone where else. Reshma has this feeling in her heart from the time she came to realize her existence on this earth. Her life on the shore was a sleepwalk where she has moments of wakefulness when she meets city dwellers coming to the island from far away places to dwell in solitude and enjoy the loneliness of their soul.
She couldn’t comprehend their need to isolate themselves. She, on the other hand, craved the madness of chaos and crowd. She has lived too long in the shadows of loneliness, and now her heart fluttered to fly high in the world of noises. But she had no idea how to break the chains that have bound her too long with the place she has called her home. Home is not always the place where you live, sometimes its the place you need to travel, to find the missing piece of your soul.
On one bright Sunday morning, she was standing on the shore looking at the vastness of the ocean. And there arose a whirlwind in the middle of blueness, stirring her soul. It was like a wolf howling inside her chest, wild with the anticipation, of what lay ahead, beyond the horizon. The seizing typhoon brought the fishes to the shore, and they were wriggling in pain, their eyes had a fear of death that waited for them in no time. Yet, they were all trying to swim back in the water, not giving up the hope to have one more last chance at life.
This struggle broke Reshama’s stupor and brought her to senses, and then she ran, like never before, not looking back at people calling her back, she kept running as if her life depended on this action, she ran breaking the roots tangling her to the place she called home, all along.
No one knows what they might find across the border after all a border is just another wall of that side. But not crossing it just because everyone thinks you shouldn’t, is not the reason enough, to walk across the boundary line.
I don’t know if we each have a destiny, or if we’re all just floatin’ around accidental-like on a breeze. But I, I think maybe it’s both. – Forrest Gump.