Solo

SOLO 2021

By Nivetha sundar

Copyright © 2022 Nivetha Sundar. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

To the strongest woman, I’ve known Jamuna Dorairajan

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Father’s Day photographed by Raghad

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PROLOGUE I’ve been mulling over the idea of writing a book. Every time I begin to type out words, I keep fixating on their placement - it’s congruous formation. The process has always been backspace, type, backspace, and type some more; trying to get emotions out into a visible space. They’re thoughts I don’t share openly and for some reason, it’s in the absence of speech do I find the ease of expressing how I feel about the world and the people in it.

I worry why that is. Would life have been easier if I vocalized my opinions instead of scribbling them into my journal every other night?

I see there’s value in what I have to say and maybe somewhere, you’re reading this and thinking I’m right - or worse, that I’m simply making a fool of myself. For my sake, I hope it’s the former.

I need something to look back to.

A summary; of a year that I truly felt in tune with my mind.

A reminder; of what I had to let go of.

A promise; To keep going.

So I’ll leave you here to proceed into the deep trenches of my brain, through times of pain, marred with beautiful specks of indulgence and peace. In it, I pray you find that this year was indeed unique and with its passing, you’ve simply become.

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Take this with you before you go

I wish you could see yourself as the girl you once were when you were 19. So full of life and grit! You were determined to take from life the experiences you craved. You didn’t wait. Your curiosity led you to a beautiful place so what happened?

Hasn’t the world been harsh on you enough that you deserve a little joy?

You didn’t care about being loved back, so why does that matter now?

Try to find her. For me.

I love you, more than anyone else ever can.

Get up.

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Chapters

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UNLOCKED

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SEPARATION ANXIETY

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THINGS FOUND, THINGS MISSING

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JAMUNA

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REGRETS

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AN ODE TO DEATH

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CHERRY BLOSSOM TREES

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THALASSOPHOBIA

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FEEL; TOUCH

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CLEANSE

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MY BODY

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POOPY PLAYLIST

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MY WORLD NEEDS HEALING 5

Out My Window On a Rainy Day

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UNLOCKED January has always been a difficult month. It’s always brimming with high expectations, empty promises, and a heightened sensitivity to the passage of time. If “what now?” was a month, it would be January. The air begins to clear on the world and people return to their repetitive lives.

This year was a little different. I’ll refrain from going into detail just yet because it wasn’t particularly groundbreaking. It felt like I finally was able to get that one door to open, which had been locked for a very long time. It was of my volition and looking back, part of me worries why I hadn’t just tried opening it earlier. But maybe, the timing wasn’t right. When I think of it now, I’m glad I did.

I had company and it was heart-warming to make a new best friend - albeit cautiously optimistic. Yet, it quickly taught me that loneliness was a brutal feeling.

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SEPARATION ANXIETY Why am I so afraid of being alone?

I feel like people think I’m strong enough to be alone, that they probably think I don’t yearn to belong to someone. I’m conflicted by the thought of wanting to be independent, but also wanting someone to fall back on.

It makes me feel ashamed to be my parents’ daughter.

I read today that the fear of abandonment stems from deep-rooted trauma resulting from the lack of object permanence. Some studies state that parental negligence in a child’s early years could cause this fear well into their adulthood.

My parents were young when they had me. My father was my age when I was born. They left everything; their family, their friends, and what they knew to be home - in the hopes of creating a better world for me. And to think that I’m not the only child to have grown up this way is only a little comforting BUT we went back.

It’s this very aspect of my life that I seem to keep coming back to. This is the singular drop that has rippled into what I’ve become as an adult.

Is this my parent’s fault for not asking a 10-year-old if she wanted her life uprooted? What would I have known about major life decisions? Is it mine for having complied?

Many families move. So why am I so mad that I did?

Then I take a deep breath and remember we did this twice. We moved across seas twice. And it feels like I’m not one person, but two. I’m an adult that can’t stay anywhere for too long and I’m a child who never wants to move again.

Still, that’s the thing about being older - it’s that people don’t stick around for too long when they think you’re strong enough to be alone.

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THINGS FOUND, THINGS MISSING Things found, things missing Loose lips, a tense soul Warm blood, lungs out of breath Anxiety takes its toll Ten months – Coiled, this thin copper wire Around my body and, my best I tried To keep them from finding this secret I hide

JAMUNA Paati, You were always so gentle.

My earliest memory I have with you was of me running through the airport in Singapore and looking back, watching you try to keep up. You’d sleep in my room when you were visiting, and whenever I’d get scared I’d ask to sleep next to you, and never once did you say no.

Ironically, you weren’t one to get very attached. It was confusing to watch how other families behaved. So loving, always embraced, and candid in their joy.

I was always jealous that I never got to spend enough time with you. I envy those who’ve had their grandparents help them sneak extra candy, comfort them when their parents weren’t very understanding; united by a common

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enemy. All I’ve known is discipline and being responsible; a straight edge, conditioned through ancestral patterns. It was never fair that Mama got to keep you and Amma didn’t. You were the grandmother I needed growing up and you’re the woman I need now.

This year I’ve really come into my own. I’ve evolved and I’m happier than I was when I saw you last. I’ve taught myself to be a little more patient and a little bit more forgiving (of myself and others). You’d be proud of me. I knew you were always proud and I knew you had your reasons to not voice that pride.

Your passing has made me realize that your presence meant more to me than I thought. It’s also brought me to the reality of my lifespan and that of my own parents. I have no grandparents left, and that scares me. The people that Amma and Appa depended on are gone and I find that I now take that place.

I have their full attention. I feel their souls and it’s heavy.

There are many things about your life that I didn’t know and clearly, I’m speaking from the heart of a girl who misses her Paati. You taught me that keeping to one’s own company is a skill. Living alone has challenged that. And when it gets hard I think of you. The picture I have of you is nestled on my bookshelf, right by the window. So that when the sun rises in the morning, its rays shine on you first before anything else. I think you’d like that.

And I hope that wherever you are, you’re happy. ...

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REGRETS Dear Max, I wish I never met you. I wish I didn’t throw my consciousness out the window when I was with you. I wish I had kept my distance. I want to set fire to every single memory of you and pretend you never existed.

I can’t help but feel like an idiot, because of you.

If only I had spent a fraction of the time I was caring for you, on myself instead - I would’ve woken up earlier; loved myself sooner.

You are my biggest regret.

AN ODE TO DEATH I live for those who passed.

They watch, always - I know they do.

They see when I weep.

They see when I smile.

I die for those who thrive to keep them afloat.

Unlike the dead, they’re blind - to the extra hand - to the pain Tell me you don’t believe in ghosts and only in beings that breathe.

I mean the dead kith & kin and not just any spirit covered in white sheets

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You notice when they’re gone And in their absence, don’t you think they see you?

Your true feelings?

Did you see them struggle in their liveliness?

Were they happy when they passed?

Do you think they had regrets?

Would you have been gentler, knowing?

The dead watch, The living are blind.

CHERRY BLOSSOM TREES I believe that every person in your life is like a winding road with many a forked path; offering journeys of love and/or pain. Some paths have thorn bushes upon entry, and others gradually along the way (often hidden). And some rare paths, my favorite ones, are filled with cherry blossom trees.

I used to be a doting people pleaser, annoyingly so. I’d end my emails with “Best,” and I begin them with “Sorry to bother you”. I still am to a degree, but I’ve learnt my worth now. Those crossroads are more clear. I’ve carried on through by asking myself only one question along the way and that was “Am I choosing myself ?”

Some days, I still struggle and often find some thorn bushes, but when the cherry blossom trees appear, I walk slower. Those days are few and far between. But when they come, which is usually on weekends, this particular path is in full bloom and it’s those days I try to make the most of it.

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THALASSOPHOBIA I learned today that Thalassophobia meant the fear of large bodies of water, or more so a fear of the unknown; of the gargantuan bodies that potentially existed in the deep trenches of the sea. Ironically, it’s this very possibility that draws me to the mystery that is the ocean.

This year, I jumped at every possible opportunity that took me closer to the coast. Each time was more fulfilling than the last. I made a list of books and visual media that’s a must-watch/read if you’re as obsessed as I am.

• Castaway, for whenever you want to know what it would feel like to lose all social contact with the world.

• Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O’Dell, for culture and learning the importance of resilience.

• Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne, for a breath-taking adventure and that’s only if you have time to read it.

• Life of Pi by Yann Martel (the movie too), for love and loss.

• The Perfect Storm, to remind yourself that white men cannot stomach fail-

ure, so much so that they will embark on a suicide mission and make a biographical movie about it 9 years later glorifying said dead men. And you’ll cry while watching it because - Hollywood, baby.

• Open Water, which is astonishingly good for a survival thriller.

• Every Goddamn Youtube video about Cephalopods, just because.

• The Soul of an Octopus by Sy Montgomery, for whenever you feel disconnected with yourself.

Oh! But to be stranded on an island and falling asleep to the waves crashing amongst the cliffs. Swimming between sunken shipwrecks, alongside a pod of whales; wading in the ocean as the sun sleeps on the horizon. How can one not be so calm in the face of something so vast? In 2022, I want to completely drown myself into the sea and all its secrets - and imbibe more media.

I’ve realized my body has somewhat attuned to this aquatic affection of mine.

My dreams speak to me through the briny deep. Murky waters meant suffering or danger. It meant something in my waking life was wrong and needed fixing.

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I’d know if the storm had passed if I dreamt of water that was so clear I could see the ocean bed covered in iridescent flora and fauna. I am the ocean and the ocean is me. *sigh* ...

FEEL; TOUCH I find it so weird that we feel our emotions with our heart when scientifically touch is a sensory, neuronic sensation. But are feeling and touching the same?

People say “You’ve touched my heart” and “I feel you” all the time. Feel.

Touch. These words.

It all just seems obtuse. That these emotions we feel are unseen, and our brain is unseen. Sheathed under a thick layer of fat and skin cells. The outside holds our insides together. And yet, somehow it forms this singular system of independent thoughts and yes, feelings.

And what I find even weirder is the only mode of conveying on the outside of what we feel inside is the foundation of language. Even then, sometimes what people say often doesn’t match up to what they feel. So truly, will our brains and hearts ever agree with one another? Will we ever know how one truly feels without a shred of doubt? Would trust exist otherwise, if we could simply just.. read minds?

Isn’t it weird?

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CLEANSE Everyone’s getting married. Everyone seems to be finding love and settling down. And as I slump in the corner of my 350 sq ft studio apartment in the heart of San Francisco, I worry if I waited too long to settle. Do I even want to settle?

Oddly enough, I didn’t feel this way five years ago when people I knew were still getting married. There’s been a dynamic shift in the type of marriages though. In 2016, it felt like an obligation to get married and now, I feel that more people are falling in love which is probably why I feel so bothered by not keeping up with love.

Thought Catalogue says there’s no age limit to settling down and that everyone has their own timeline. Cosmopolitan introduced me to 30 women over 30 who are happily single and living their life in style. I devoured podcasts and cleaned my Instagram feed. Anything that made me feel less than had to be eradicated - and eradicate, I did.

I unfollowed, I unfriended, I blocked, I privatized, I deleted, And I cleansed.

This wasn’t necessarily a response to people getting married. It was a form of protection I gave myself (and others) from extending my negative feelings into someone’s positive space. Because, deep down - I think I am a jealous person. BUT, and that’s a huge “but”, I’m also tired of seeing ONLY the happy moments.

Truly, one cannot always be that happy. It’s annoying.

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MY BODY My body looks different. It’s not youthful anymore and parts of it sag.

Am I destined to become another self-help, emotionally vague writer that preaches about how I have the same insecurities as most women my age? I wonder what I have to offer in this space other than the cliched “Love yourself and your curves” quip.

If I stretch a bit more then maybe I can convince you that exercise is only relevant if it suits your interests and your personal goal. Or how about we collectively lean back and watch our stomachs sink into our abs for a moment’s worth of pleasure? Why does self-love feel like such a distant goal and why is it so easy to just hate oneself ?

You know it’s only going to get worse from here, right? And I don’t mean for ourselves. We’ll get over it. Some of us will find beauty in how our clothes fold into our skin and some of us will learn how to conceal the parts that aren’t so easy on the eyes. And then there will be some of us who will never believe what we see in the mirror.

I worry for the future and if this is a thing that will ever cease to exist. There will always be someone a little more beautiful and the world may never look your way. The fact is that we’re all different and so are our bodies. It will change with time, and parts of it will sag. And then we will die. ...

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POOPY PLAYLIST Songs to listen to when you’re feeling “poopy”, and you should only listen to them in this order Somewhere Over the Rainbow by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole Don’t Worry, Be Happy by Bobby McFerrin Lean On Me by Bill Withers What A Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong You Are My Sunshine (specifically Johnny Cash’s version) Slice of Heaven by Dave Dobbyn Hit the Road, Jack by Ray Charles I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor and finally, Truth Hurts by Lizzo You don’t need to be dealing with boy problems to enjoy the last one. Sometimes, a bad bitch just needs to pretend. But I promise, this will leave you feeling less poopy

MY WORLD NEEDS HEALING Do you know how people always say that it’s easier to break things than to build them? It got me thinking as to why that is. Humanity’s history and how our evolution has been intimately entwined in a disoriented loop of destruction and restoration. Who wields more power in that equation? Is it the brawn of soldiers & men alike who crossed enemy lines; decimated villages to occupy and rule over the weak? Or the nurturers and dreamers who paint their world with carbon and heartbeats.

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The nature of our Earth today and how it’s taken us 3 generations to realize our resources are finite. Sickness prevails and the rich are the new untouchables.

Recessions, Capitalism, Influencers, Amazon… we’re exhausted. The world is exhausted.

I don’t mean to end on a depressing note, but it’s often the last week of the year that makes me worry about things like the state of the world and my future whether it’s even worth having hope in the death of a disease that seems to be neverending; always mutating.

But this is the conclusion that I’ve come to. That I simply don’t care anymore.

I choose ignorant bliss. I choose the nurturers and the dreamers. I choose optimism. I want to be the antidote and protect whomever I can protect. I am a nurturer and a dreamer. I will build.

This world needs healing and I shall heal my world. ...

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Fin

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