'Just as I am'

The other day, I was furiously hunting for caption  for my presentation on the college Women’s Cell when I overheard a bunch of my male colleagues talking about being an ‘ideal man’ for girls.  One colleague said, “You just have to accept them just the way they are. Just let them be however they want to be. After all, every woman wants a man who accepts them just as they are!!”

I was up to my neck with work for the upcoming program but curiosity got the best of me. And without me realizing it, that old thinking cap flew out of nowhere and snugly fits itself into my well groomed-formal- Monday-hair. Statistics and the inspirational speeches on International Women’s Day flew out of the window as four words kept plaguing my mind. JUST AS I AM.

If you ask any girl about her ideal man, there is one line which you must always brace yourself to hear. “Someone who accepts me just as I am”

I don’t beg to differ and I’m no rebel without a cause. But need I wash my dirty linen in public and stress on the fact that I failed (humiliatingly so!) on a relationship (of five years) with a person who accepts me ‘just as I am’?

I was once the starry-eyed girl who dreamt of finding a man who accepts me ‘just as I am’. But after the relationship headed for a doom, I buried that girl on wounded knees. Burying her was the best decision I have made in my life.

Looking back, I never fully blamed the failure of our relationship on him because the ‘just as I am’ me wasn't someone you would want to spend the rest of your life with. The ‘just as I am’ me was an 'unnegotiably' proud individual inflicted with the disease of self-righteousness. Even I would never settle for the ‘just as I am’ me. ‘Just as I am’ refuses to compromise, refuses to budge or walk in the other person’s shoes. ‘Just as I am’ refuses to grow up or change for the better because she believes that she is already the best just as she is. Pride never allows progress with ‘just as I am’. 'Just as I am' is an island. She's not fit for a relationship. 

It takes a fatal heartbreak and hitting rockbottom to make me realize that I never want to spent the rest of my life with someone who accepts me ‘just as I am’. Because ‘just as I am’ me has never been matured enough, responsible enough and selfless enough to be a half of a whole.

I told myself, if I ever fall in love again, I would fall for someone who inspires the ‘best I can be’; someone who will work with me to grow into a better, responsible and a more matured person.

I don’t remember falling ‘head over heels’ in love with my husband. In fact, I don’t remember ‘falling’ ever. I do remember growing in love with him. In fact, we still are, every day. Each new day rises with a tiny new reason for me to love him.

My husband deserves my best. He doesn't deserve a stagnant person who’s hell bent on being accepted ‘just as she is’.  My husband deserves a selfless wife whose attitude and world is not limited to her ‘queendom’.

I am not perfect ‘just as i am’. I know I’ll never be; yet I can still work on changing myself for the better. ‘Best I can be’ accepts that change because she is selfless and matured and is strong enough to bend with the wind. I’d be ‘best i can be’ anyday.

‘Best I can be’ is selfless while ‘Just as I am’ is self centric.

‘Best I can be’ makes a better half while ‘Just as I am’ makes a bitter half.

So I turned to my colleagues and bluntly told them so. In my opinion, an ideal man is someone who inspires the ‘best I can be’ in any girl rather than someone who accepts the ‘just as I am’ girl.

They all look at me.

Flabbergasted .

A second of eerie silence.

Then all of them started speaking at the same time.

“But it doesn’t always work that way”

“You really think so???”

“But you have always been the weird one with the weird outlook!!”

“Dang! I should’ve married you instead!”

I went back to my laptop. Smug. Nose in the air.

I took the last comment as a compliment.

Who would you be or who would you choose? 

Six Months: A Love Story

It all started on an icy Delhi morning in January a couple of years ago. I was up all night praying on the hostel rooftop, my blanket firmly wrapped around me. My life, at that instant, was in a deep turmoil. It had been a year after I went through a deep heartbreak and mourning the death of a relationship that I invested my heart and soul upon. After a year, the mourning still couldn't stop and I still didn't have the strength to pick up my pieces and get on my feet. I had given up entirely on relationships and it was that morning that I announced my plans to my God. My prayers were personal and quiet; a deep cry from the depths of a broken soul to her Maker. It was at that moment when God spoke to me through Genesis 24; a Promise that God gave me when my skies were dark and gray. I buried the Promise in my heart while I was staunch on living my whole life as a single woman. 

June, Last year. Seventeen months after God gave me the Promise. I was waiting for my turn at a job interview at a small town, 5 hours away from home. My life had changed rapidly during the past year. I packed up my bags and left the city I called home for seven years. I moved back with my family and spend a year seeking the Lord on what was supposed to be my next step. I believed God called me for this job – a teaching job in a college run by the church. My heart has always been for the unreached and I’ve set my heart to go on a full time mission. But for what reason did God call me for this job, I didn’t know; I’ve always loved teaching, yet why this town and this college I didn’t know. The pay isn’t great, I didn’t have family in this town and my dad was against me moving away from home, yet again. In fact, the previous evening, I reached Lunglei with a backpack, a phone number of the parents of an old college friend and a hope soaring in my heart that God will lead my way. I sat quietly looking around at the other candidates, some confident and some looking pale and nervous. I prayed quietly, reassuring myself that nothing will stand in my way if God leads it. There I was, stepping out in blind faith.

I met the man who would be my husband that evening.

An old friend, knowing I was in town, paid me a visit and he brought his friend along. Not because he wanted to introduce us, but because he didn’t have a ride! If you expect sparks to fly or a very clichéd “Love at first sight”, you’d be deeply disappointed. The only thing I remembered about him was that he was tall and he wore spects. We however exchanged phone numbers out of cordiality and never used it or even tried. I left for home the next day after I got rejected for the job. My dad was happy while my pride was hurt. I’ve never taken rejection lightly and quietly prepared myself for the next move, still not understanding why I would get rejected when I was so sure that it was God himself who led me to that place.

The tall person I met in Lunglei was the very last thing on my mind.

Two weeks later, on a rainy Sunday morning, I received a phone call from a person who politely told me that the Committee had decided to open a new post for the very same job I applied for and that they wanted me to fill the post. God made a way when there seems to be no way. 

The very next day, I received yet another phone call from the tall person nervously telling me that God told him during his quiet time the previous night that I am going to be his wife....

.....

I flew into rage.

In my anger, told my cousin that I’d reject the job and that I’d never move to Lunglei. I remember my exact words, “The guts he has. We met once and he had the nerves to say such things to me. If what he said is really true, then God will speak to me too. I will never never never be another case of ‘gospel-blackmail’ ”. In fact, mentally I cancelled all my plans. Committing myself to another relationship is the very last thing on my mind. I’ve already accepted the fact that I will be single and spend my days somewhere in a mission field.

However during my quiet time two days later, God renewed the Promise that I buried in my heart a year ago. Genesis 24 came alive. It was our very own story. At that moment, I knew I was Rebekah – an answer to a servant’s prayer. 

However, God gave me a choice.

Then they said,” Let’s call the girl and ask her about it.” So they called Rebekah and asked her, “Will you go with this man?” Genesis 24:57

I stepped out in faith.

This time, it was my turn to make a phone call.

I moved to Lunglei, joined work and he took me to meet his family. By late October, we were planning a wedding. Both our families couldn’t be more contented. We met in June, we married in December. And we both knew without God we would never make a whole. In fact, I believe, this is and will forever be our biggest strength. Friends often ask me if I've ever doubted him. After all, I knew him for only six months. God created my husband, He made him and He knew him before the beginning of time. Just like He knew me. And God, in all His wisdom, presented a man before me and spoke to both of us. Who am I to say otherwise??? 

Now, we are making a home in a little white house on a hill; facing challenges together everyday. We are both imperfect humans. He has had his past and I have mine. And it’s hardly anything to be proud of. But we both believe we can overcome our past demons with God on our side.

Like I’ve said, I arrived in Lunglei six months ago believing I heard God’s voice. My bank account was on minimum balance and I had no one to call my own. Today, I have a husband, a home, a family, a job and I’ve made this town my home.

Two weeks before our wedding, my cousin called me up and asked what he’s like. I described him as best as I could.

 She squealed with delight “U Sen, he literally ticked off your list.”

“List? What list?”

“The list you made back in college on the qualities you wanted for a partner. I remember you used to pray about it”

I froze.

He.Did. Tick.Out.the.List.

Allow God to write your story. Most importantly, you love story. 

Believe me, He’s a better Author than you ever will be.

From Lunglei, With Love

She smiled at me.

Her eyes were brown and a lot darker than her uniform. Her pigtails were mismatched and she was perched on the back of a scooter with her brother behind her. Her cheeks were ruddy pink and when she smiled, her eyes were suddenly transformed into little slits of crescents.

Little did I know that a smile of an unknown child would make my day!

It was my usual walk - just a five minute uphill walk to college. However that day I was tired… I haven’t slept well in weeks and my sinusitis haven’t been showing mercy. I burnt my hand badly while cooking that morning and things in the family haven’t been the best with the news of an old aunt’s demise in Aizawl a few hours before sunrise. Yet, little did I know that the smile of a little schoolgirl at Falkawn Crossing would make my day. I smiled to myself as I walked up towards college.

It’s been a month since I’ve moved to Lunglei, a little sleepy town down south. After exactly 11 months at home, I am yet on the move again.I got a job offer from this Christian college and here I am now in Lunglei, lodging with the family of my best friend in college (who now lives in Bhutan) and sprinting on my way to work each morning.

I love my job.  My students have a way of getting through to this heart and I am so eager to go to work each morning. My colleagues are wonderful to work with.  If I’m not taking class, I’d bein the library catching up on readings or conversing in the faculty room with my co-workers, powdering my oily nose or dancing before the faculty room’s huge mirror which makes my Barbie-like figure look like a fat-mama joke! (Heh!! I’m kidding! I have a fat mama-like figure anyway! :D )

Me being me :  Fooling around with a skit prop for College Fresher's day!! 

There are so many things I love about this town. I can’t mention them all. But the fact it’s just five hours away from home and that traffic is minimal in this town adds up to it. If I ever get homesick, I can just hop into a cab and go home for a weekend. But I’ve never resorted to such an act just as yet.

The weather in this town is as unpredictable as my mood. It’ll be all bright and sunny in the mornings and then suddenly, it gets dark and rainy in the evenings. Sometimes the fog here at Lunglei gets me all gloomy, once it starts covering the hills. But most of the time, I’m thankful that I no longer live in the scorching heat of the Capital. It’s a bit too humid to my liking at times and the weather here at Lunglei has been very hard on my skin, my sinus and my bronchi. Why!! I’ve just been diagnosed with allergic bronchitis yesterday!!  But nonetheless, it’s good for my heart and my soul. Leitlangpui is indeed a ‘Mount of Transfiguration’ for my physical and emotional being. I am so at peace here despite my pimples refusing to show mercy!!

The view from the our Faculty Room. I lodge somewhere down there!

But love dawns!!

I am seeing someone again... after two and a half years of refusing to go out on a single date. There were times when friends and family would try to convince me to meet someone. I would bluntly refuse saying that I am not ready. After failing miserably in a five year long relationship, I’ve become a cynic to the matters of the heart. Though I’ve told myself a number of times that failure, no matter how huge it may be, should not maim me or leave me an emotional cripple. I guess I never really convinced myself... until I met him. He’s an imperfect person… a broken person (to be more precise!!) and we would never complete each other without our “Third Cord” which somehow makes it all the more better. The good thing about us is that we share the same dreams, the same goals and we speak the same heart language! Let’s just say, the best thing about us is Jesus Christ.

God is good.

A year ago, I was scorching in the heat of the Capital; house- sitting for a friend’s family for the summer; still licking the wounds of a broken heart and listening to music whose lyrics sound more foreign than Greek and Latin to me.

A year later, here I am in Lunglei, thinking of ways to invent a special umbrella which would keep me dry from the windy rain; planting squash and pumpkin in the kitchen garden; singing in a choir led by my all-time-favourite Mizo Gospel composer; wearing boots in August (because it’s actually cold enough) and meeting new people every day.

And when things don’t go too well, little delights appear!!! Like the brown-eyed girl with that smile! God is good!!

So here’s a bright ‘Hello’ after going off radar for a long time.

New Beginnings are beautiful. Indeed!!

From Lunglei, With Love.

Against the Norm: Dreaming in Colours!

We are related by marriage. A very recent one. Her blood married my blood. She is a nice, soft spoken lady. She wouldn’t even hurt a fly. We were just on a visit to her house when she started “Why don’t you write one of these MPSC exams? You are a very smart girl. I’m sure you’d get through it with flying colours.” Since she was genuinely being nice, I decided to be nice to her too. So I smiled my sweetest, nod my head repetitively and tuned out her voice in my head.

Exactly three hours later, I was with my cousin, curled up in a sofa, balancing my three week-old niece on my knees, and sipping on a cup of green tea. She was folding blankets when out of the blue, she started “Sen, why don’t you appear in one of these MPSC exams? It’s so much better than what you’re planning on doing now”.

She is my cousin.

I grew up with her; fought with her, laughed and cried with her. I lost sleep over the last three weeks, smelling of breast milk, baby vomit and baby poop taking care of her newborn. Heck! I even let her pop my shoulder pimples (TMI much??) She’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a sister and I know she can handle my worst. So I let the wave wash over me.

“Go write the exam if you’re so keen on it”

“How can I? I have three kids already. And I’m not as smart as you are”

“Well, thank you but then, go ask your husband”

“He IS writing the exam”

“Well, good for you”

I was quiet, sipping on my green tea. Being the big sister that she is, she sensed my inner frown.

“Well, Sen, I’m only saying that because I care about you”

“Thank you very much. But in the future, please do not care for me in such a way”

I know I was rude. She mumbled to herself

“You’re so stubborn”

I smirked. Silence.

“I’m just saying you should take the exam. You don’t have to take the job if you don’t want to”

Then all hell broke loose.

“ 'If I don’t want?', then how about this? I don’t want to sit for the exam and I don’t want the job. And I don’t know why I am having this conversation with you. You have a husband and three kids you can bully regarding career choices, why me?”

I got up laying the baby back in her crib. She stirred but didn’t wake up. My cousin glared at me.

“I’m going home. And I’m not spending the night here. Be alone with your baby for a night and ponder over what you say in the wee hours of the morning when the baby wakes you up for a diaper change” I stormed out sulking as if I’m the most misunderstood person in the world. Drama Queen much?!! I know it’s only a matter of a few hours before I rush back into their home to kiss my niece and her squishy cheeks.

I am just so sick of such questions or arguments that I even resorted to airing out my frustrations on my social networking profile. The responses are hilarious, by the way. And I believe it’s safe to say that I’m not the only one in our generation who goes through this! Hallelujah… I’m not alone!

There’s exactly one thing that our Mizo parents and their generation are obsessed about, regarding career choices. “To be an IAS officer” or “To be an MCS officer”.  And children who get good grades in school are somehow lulled into that career choice. And not many make it that far!! Hats off to all those who make it through. It’s a highly respected job, deemed by society and will definitely give you a very comfortable life… financially. I'm not against the career in general. 

But I don’t think there anything wrong with me when I say I don’t want such a job or any desk-job in general. The nature of the job just doesn’t entice me. Of course, it’ll have its perks. But I don’t want to give signatures and move files from one table to another for a living.

I know what I want.

I want to teach. It’s in my blood, I must say, with a high school teacher as a mother and a grandfather who retired as a primary school teacher. People who have influenced me in my life have mostly been my teachers and I grew up admiring teachers both at home and at school. Besides, teaching gives me a deep sense of satisfaction, self-respect and self-gratification – a sense of feeling that I’m not wasting away my time and that I’m genuinely helping some young person open their mind and eyes to the world and the mysteries that comes with it. I knew my years as a Sunday school teacher were not wasted when my kids cried and held on to me when I was to relocate. That was something worth cherishing. I know that taking up a career as a teacher won’t be as financially lucrative as that of a govt. officer, but isn’t this my life? Am I not supposed to make my own choices? Good or bad. And suffer the consequences if I make a bad choice?

Going for overseas missions have always, always been in my heart. For the past decade, I’ve always suppressed that passion because I’ve had other priorities. But now, I believe, I’ve set my priorities right. I’m going back to my first love and my passion. J.  I’ve talked to my dad about it a year ago and surprisingly, he supported me. And recently whenever I talk to aunts or cousins about it, no matter how ‘church-going’ or ‘mission-minded’ they may be, the questions and comments always came back to square one...

“What about getting married? Aren’t you dating anyone? Wait, I have to introduce you to this young man….”

“So this means you’ll end up marrying someone from outside the community?”

“But then you’ll have to leave home and Aizawl and your Dad?”

“Are you sure? Don’t take sudden decisions. You can serve God here in the local church too”

For a thoroughly impatient person like me, it can get very frustrating!! I do respect marriage and I wholly believe in it. So much that I’m definitely not getting married just because I’m scared of being alone or because everyone I know is getting married. (Which reminds me – a cousin and a close friend are getting married on the same Thursday on different towns. DILEMMA!!) I have way too much ego and am way too stubborn for that! I’ll never settle for anything (or anyone) less than God’s best! And if I’m wrong, allow me to bleed and suffer the consequences when I’m old, poor and grey and all alone with no offspring to care for me!

As a Mizo woman, I know that life as a married woman in our society would be more respected, deemed and more accepted than that of an unmarried woman; but don’t you dare tell me that an unmarried woman is incomplete. My completion is in Christ and not in a husband!! (There I go again! Yeah! **gives oneself a mental high-five** I just couldn’t resist it! :)  :)  )

The Psalmist said “As for the days of our life, they contain seventy years, Or if due to strength, eighty years…” (Psalms 90:10). On another far end, Chetan Bhagat  once said “ If we are lucky, we may last another 50 years. And 50 years is just 2,500 weekends” Wait how old am I again?? I don’t even have 1200 weekends left if I live to be fifty. And I’m a few years shy of half my life if I live to be 70.

Even if the Psalms or Chetan Bhagat fail to make a point to you, I don’t believe I need to clarify on the uncertainty of life itself or how long it's gonna last. Well if I do, then I suggest you take a humbling walk in your local graveyard one fine evening, to see at what age people die with what reasons. In other words, life is too short. Life is too short to waste it away on a job you hate. It’s too short to fritter it away denying yourself your passion and it’s definitely too short to waste it away trying to please other people and hurting yourself in the process. Remember Dr. Suess’s famous “Those who mind won’t matter, and those who matter won’t mind”. I have just one life to live. And I have no intention of living out the unfulfilled dreams of my parents or aunts or spend my years attempting to please all those people who never really mattered anyway. I have a team that I do listen to… the team of my head, my heart and the word of God.

So here I am again, after a 1500 word count... I believe I am created with this head and heart and all the things that happened in my past, be it good or bad, have helped shaped me into the person I am today. And this person, today, have dreams… so many dreams. Some never see the light of day, some got shattered along the way and some are just being born or taking shape.

But I dream in colours.

I find no sin in being different or refusing to conform to a norm. I’m no heretic for dreaming in impossibly bright vivid colours. I’m blessed with these colours and I refuse to let anyone tone down them down or paint them otherwise... 

Rainy Days and Untold Stories

I’ve always loved rainy days… especially when I don’t have to go to work or venture out.

I fell in love with steaming mugs of black coffee by foggy windows. It only gets better when your hair is still wet from the shower and you are wrapped in a fluffy blanket. Oh how I loved rainy days!

There was a time in my life when the rain inspired me. Back in Delhi, when it rains I either dance or write. Yep!! I have a ritual whenever monsoon hits the capital - A rain-dance on the hostel rooftops until I catch a bad cold. Whenever the sound of rain hits the scorching courtyard, I’d run outside to smell the freshly-showered wet earth – one of the most pleasant smells in the world.

Or I’d write.

Rain would always bring out the storyteller in me. Stories about past, life and love would silently be hummed from my fingertips to the keyboard in Font Calibri(Body) size 11. Sitting next to a foggy window with a steaming cup of coffee (or green tea on occasional health conscious days), words would flow, tunes would suddenly arise in my head and untold stories would be told.

But those were days of long ago…

I woke up to rain this morning as I snuggled up in my blanket. (Yes! I wear blankets in May! The perks of living in a hill station.) After my usual hour with my Maker with a bible on my knee, I sat at my couch near the window wishing that I’d not waste the rain. It’s too cold for a rain-dance, and choir competition’s coming up, so I can’t afford to catch a cold. So I took out my notebook wishing some untold story would materialize.

It didn’t.

So I guess I zoned out for a good hour until my nephew knocked on my door to tell me that brunch was served. Yep! I wasted the whole morning zoning out!

Mornings like this makes me realize how just 8 months and a change of location have changed me. I hardly write or find the time to write. I hardly have time to listen to myself or my thoughts!

Church and social activities take so much of my time that sometimes I can’t find the time to catch up with my nieces. I can forget about having an ‘alone time’ to reflect on my own!! Believe it or not! I am free only on Friday evenings but even Fridays are often taken away by meetings. Other nights are taken by church services, compulsory choir practices and whatnots. I hope I am not disrespecting or insulting the church or anyone when I say that church activities have taken a toll on my personal relationship with God… sadly, for the worse!! I am just so busy and tired from all the running around that sometimes I can’t find the time to spend with my Maker, talking to Him or just listening to Him!

And I am thoroughly ashamed to say that there are days when I don’t even crave for my time with my Maker anymore. It’s like, you are in a relationship with someone you don’t make the time for, that slowly you realized you are accustomed and sadly, comfortable living your everydays without that person. I don’t want to be in such a relationship with my Jewish Carpenter!! I have no one to blame but myself! I’m definitely not trying hard enough!! I have to make changes!!

Sometimes Mizo Christianity disappoints me! A lot! A couple of weeks ago, we had a Retreat for the Pastorate Choir. (I know, I know… only 8 months in Aizawl and already a member of the Pastorate Choir? I still ask the question myself!) It embarrasses me to no end that hardly any of the members have a regular quiet time, my own self included. I wonder, with the ridiculously little time we spent with our Maker, how can we sing ‘in the Spirit’ or expect our light to shine?!! We hardly have ‘light’ or take time to light our feeble little candle to begin with!!

A work colleague once asked me if I know a certain someone from my church –  a very active member of the Youth and also a member of a renown denominational choir in Aizawl. Then he added “Down South, we know him as Zual-Nam-Nileng-a, Zual-zu-heh-a, Zual-‘thih-ka-ngam’-a (Yep! I changed the name for privacy reasons). Now when I see him on TV with his choir, I can’t help but judge. I’m a bad person. Ain’t I??” I didn’t have an answer. I probably never will…

We have been deceived thoroughly!! And we still allow ourselves to be deceived. We judge a book by its cover over and over again that we don’t know how else to view a book! What's worse, we weigh ourselves with the pathetic scale of that same 'book cover logic' that we are so contented as long as we wear our best on Sunday services. And I say again, we have been deceived!! Thoroughly so!!

I’ve always loved rainy days… especially when I don’t have to go to work or venture out.

I’ve always loved rainy days because rainy days bring out the storyteller in me. The rain, today, sadly brings out a story of frustration, of masks worn and the lack of depth and authenticity in our church and in our Faith.

But there are two sides to every story.

And this is just my side of the story.

What’s your story?

Forgotten

Those eyes.

Those eyes used to gaze at me with love, but now look at me without a hint of recognition.

Those hands.

Those hands held me before I learnt to walk, now hanging limp and lifeless by her side.

Those lips.

Those lips always curve up in a smile and shower me with kisses, now frozen, unable to turn on the smile that lights up her face.

How does it feel like to be forgotten?

It feels like dying. Like being killed.

Like your existence is wiped away from the world against your will. Not just from any world. But from the world of someone who loves you and someone you owe your life to. And the worst thing is that there’s nothing you can do about it, to claw your way into being remembered or somehow try to redeem memories of you in that world.

I am always someone in love with life. Yet, somehow I always have this firm belief that my days are always numbered in my Maker's Hands. And that when ‘my time’ comes, I will not try to hold on to life. But sitting by her bedside, holding her hands, calling her, without her having an ounce of recognition in her eyes, I wanted to fight: fight for my existence in her memory. I wanted to claim my rightful place in her past and her present. Never in my life had I wished to be remembered. Never in my life had I wanted so bad to live beyond ‘my time’. 

Just a little bit longer.

My Ma’s cousin, my other mother, my second mother who was with the family even before my eldest brother was born; ‘Ka Nu’ we called her. She was nothing short of a mother to me. Since Ma was a working woman, she was the one who took care of me, kissed each wound, dressed me, fed me and clothe me. A single mother, she moved away from our home after her only daughter got married in a sleepy little town down south.

May, this year, I was in battling the peak of Delhi heat when I got a call from my cousin who told me that Ka Nu was sick and that she’s taking her to Aizawl for medical checkup. A few weeks later, I was informed Ka Nu had multiple brain tumour and that  the doctors told her she doesn’t have long to live. Treatment wouldn’t work at her condition and her age, I was told.

The only thing I did when I heard the news was that I got on my knees and begged God to allow me to meet her and bless her before her time is up.

God is good.

Within a couple of months, I underwent numerous changes in my life. Not a thing was pre-planned. I moved to Aizawl and a month later, I was on a bumpy road towards the southern part of the state.

It was raining when I reached the town. And though it was September, dark rain clouds hovered with mists fogging up the town. And to make it worse, the whole town was out of electricity!! It felt as if the universe knew what sort of emotional state I was in and conspired to make sure I stayed in that state.

I reached her bedside, held her hand and whispered “Nu, ka lo thleng tawh asin!”. Her eyes look at me without an ounce of recognition. My cousin called out to her, “Nu, hei Senmami a lo thleng asin. I koh I koh thin kha!”. No response as she stared at me. Fresh tears spilt on my cheeks as I cried. It was guttural, it was a heartbreaking sob triggered by the pain that has been knitting inside my core for so long. I didn’t care who was there, there was no room for etiquette. And as I sat by her bed, staring at the lifeless limp body, frozen by stroke; a fresh doze of emotions shot through my heart. It was a mixture of happiness to just see her and pain to see her in such a condition. Don't get me wrong! I had my silent "thank yous" to my Father that he granted my wish. 

But to be forgotten by the woman who raised you… the pain was magnificent.

Right at that moment, all I wanted and all I wished was to be remembered.

Sometimes, when you wish for something that bad, you start a ‘make-believe’ world. Just half an hour by her side, I started creating my make believe world.

I would like to believe that every squeeze of her hands tells me that she’s glad to see me, that she missed me; that I make her proud every single day. I would like to believe that every blank flicker of her eyes tells me that she loves me; that she’s happy that I came; that she remembers every memory that we’d made together.

I would like to believe that though the words are missing, though there isn’t a flicker of recognition in her eyes, somewhere behind the thick clouds that cover her, there is still that woman who raised me into the person that I am today.

And though I can’t see from the other end of the view, though I don’t know what it feels like to forget, there’s one thing I refuse to accept.

I refuse to be forgotten. 

And I refuse to give up the fight until I am remembered...

Dear Zac

Dear Zac,

I know we’ve never met and but I’ve known you from what other people have talked about. I don’t know when we will meet, but I know that one day, I will meet you and there are so many things I need to ask you. But until then, this letter will do.

Last weekend, I was at a cell meeting with my group of teenagers where we were talking about you and that one encounter you had. Zac, I’ve heard about you millions of times and I’m sorry I haven’t paid enough attention. I just realized today as we were talking about you that there are so many things I could learn from you.

I’ll be honest here, I hope you don’t get hurt. But Zac, my mother, I remembered was the first person who told me about you. And I never liked you from the start. First of all, I never liked short men. (Hehe!! It’s just a personal preference!) And secondly, I don’t like corrupted people who grew rich from cheating other people. My mother told me that you were that kind of person. And just that thought of you climbing a tree was downright… unattractive, I must say. So, I guess it’s safe to say that I never really admired you, or liked you. And after that encounter you had with God, she told me you changed, but doesn’t everyone??

But last week, while we were talking about you, I rediscovered so many things about you. There were so many things about you that I never really cared to look: the efforts you made, your rock-hard determination and your proactive ways. From my talks with my teen cell group, I guess I’ve come to see you in a different light. I’ve come to admire you and these past few days, I couldn’t stop thinking about you!! Sheesh!

How frustrating must it be for you when people refuse to budge when you wanted to see that one person? Did you stamp your feet and mutter ‘I am a government official, I deserve some respect’ when the crowd pushed you to the back that day? What went through your head when you saw that fig tree? How embarrassing must it be for you to climb that tree among that crowd? How awkward was climbing a tree with your tonga? By the way, did your tonga get caught in some branch revealing more than you wanted? (Just curious, you know. Cause skirts sometimes act that way!) Did someone make fun of you while you made the attempt to climb that tree? Did you bruise your knees, were there ants or insects in that tree that bit you while you were on that tree? 

I heard, that One person you tried to see that day didn’t have any plans to stop in your town. But after seeing you on that tree, he came to have dinner at your house. Well, that one encounter changed you. And in order to have that one encounter, you made an effort both mentally and physically. You were determined to see him and even climbed that fig tree.

Have you heard about Mahasen, the cyclone that was headed for Mizoram a few days back? Well, the 5/11 Aizawl tragedy and the (then) impending cyclone had me on the edge of my seat for a few days. I’ve been told that people back home were fervent in praying, asking God to somehow keep us from destruction. For the past few days, I have also been lead to have an intercessory prayer for everyone back home.

The D-day arrived and I was relieved to see on my twitter feed that the cyclone fizzled out before it reached Mizoram and changed its course. I was thankful then and there and I thank God for answered prayers. But then there were some people all over social networking sites joking and making fun of certain things about the cyclone and the prayers. It saddened my heart a bit to see how we take so many things for granted! Even the supernatural!!

Then I remembered you.

God changed His plans because you made an effort. Jesus never intended to stay in your town, he was just passing by, but because you made such an effort to meet him, he changed his plans. Likewise, I realized the cyclone fizzled out because so many people stood in the gap and prayed for deliverance.

And it’s not only about the cyclone.

It made me realize, if your efforts could make God change His plans, so can mine! I am a lot like you Zac, and I’m nothing like you at the same time. But in the end, we are both imperfect people perfected by grace.

But there is one mega-huge thing that I should not overlook. Zac, after you met Jesus, you changed your old ways! Now that is a challenge that I should take for myself. A self-reflection that I need to carry out daily: Have I changed after I’ve met Him??

I hope to meet you one day, and ask you certain questions face to face! Like how short are you exactly!? Hehe! I’m short too, but I wonder who, between us, is shorter? Or did you grab some of the fruits and eat them while you were on that tree? (I would have, if I had been in your place.) Mindless little nothings that would start a good conversation once we meet. I hope you will have some time for me when we meet and I hope you don’t have a long queue of people to ask you such questions! But then again, even there is so, when we finally meet, we will have forever (and I mean, forever, literally) to talk!

So until then,  Zac, thank you. You’ve taught me a valuable life lesson. You’ll be in my mind for a long time to come. But, don’t worry! I don’t have a crush on you. Again, I’m not attracted to short men! Heh!

Much Respect,

Seni

P.S: I hope you don’t mind me calling you Zac. You full name sounds so ancient and I realized I could never relate to you in person when I call you Zacchaeus. J J J

Private Moments

I flipped over in my bed and let out a sigh. I have been staring at the shadows dancing in my ceiling for the past two hours. Sleep definitely doesn’t come easy these days. “An hour before midnight is worth two after” or so they tell me. Somehow I can force myself to retire by midnight, but going to sleep soon after has always, always been a fight.

There’s something really healthy that I have been practicing for this year (my post-Hlimsang stage, heh!). I go to bed early and I rise with the sun! Yep! I never really knew I was a morning person until a few months back. I often find myself praying with a smile while my heart leaps as I watch the sunrise; watch the sky change into different shades of blue; hear the birds sing with the break of the new day. Oh yes! My favourite soundtrack to the scene I just mentioned is Phil Wickham's "You're beautiful". Lately, I’ve realized that the devotionals I had in the mornings are clearer, crispier and deeper than those I would have at breakfast hours. When you wake up to such beautiful mornings, getting through the day with a light hearted-mood is a breeze.

Lately, I often catch my contented reflections on windows and moving vehicles. And I have to say, with His Grace and Mercy, just within a year, I have come a long long way.

Just a year ago, I was always busy putting on my happy mask while my insides were torn and shredded. I fooled the world into thinking that I was fine and that I am a survivor despite suffering from one of the worst heartbreaks and a massive doldrum  in my life. I was always careful to put on a smile and multiple layers of perkiness and mirth when I am around other people. But when the day is done, I would drag my heavy feet and my weary heart to a lonely room that I won’t care to clean for days at the end. I would lie awake at night, sometimes cry on marathon phonecalls with my dad (the only person I could show my true colors to), pray while wondering if God ever heard me at all and wonder if I’d ever get through the night without… dying!!  Sleep would somehow catch up with me as the first ray of light hits my curtains; my day would start an hour past lunch and the same cycle of  a broken girl hiding behind a happy mask would continue!

But as cheesy as it may sound… Love heals! J

I fell in love with a Jewish Carpenter!

Need I say more?

I no longer need to prove myself to the world that I am a survivor, that I am strong and that I don’t need a man in my life. Because I am not! I’m weak and fragile; I cry when no one is watching; I often swallow a hard lump of hurt when someone calls me fat or say something shady about my dad. I am massively scared of being judged and I know that even with all the academic degrees I hold, I am nothing better than stupid! I am useless in the kitchen and till today, I don’t know how to build close friendship with girls my age! And all throughout my adult life, I always longed for that one man who would accept, complete and love me despite my flaws and imperfections (Yes! Pimples and all).  

But, that deep sense of security that springs out from a heart who knows she is well loved is something that I have never really experienced before. I realized I don’t always have to be perfect or strong or smart because I know I am loved even when I am not so.

A heart who knows that she is loved no longer spends her nights tossing about worrying about her tomorrows. A heart who knows she is loved no longer needs to put on her mask of empty joys and smiles that don’t reach her eyes.  A heart who knows she is loved is secure enough to believe that even if she might never meet a man to love her, she has already met The Man who completes her being. Instead, her quiet smiles, her calms and her serene rest springs from her inner joy – the self-realisation of being loved.

But there are nights like this when sleep don’t come easy while there’s a little voice at the back of your head that tells you that you have to be up and running by the break of dawn!! But tonight, I plugged my earphones as I browsed through my phone for some soothing music to fall asleep to…

But soothing music and falling asleep were the last thing that happened as I plugged on my earphones as Chris Rice belted out his "Smile" in his perfect warm honey voice. I found myself out of my bed, kicking my sheets away and up on my feet. The next thing I remember was dancing in the dark, my earphones firmly plugged and my phone steadily held. I no longer need to gaze at the shadows dancing on my ceiling as I become the shadow dancing, hopping and swaying barefeet across my moonlit floor…

Well, sleep has to wait tonight…

I am having one of my private moments with my Jewish Carpenter!

...You...

Dancing with the shadows,

Couldn't help but face the dark.

Shadowed Past bruised my heart

So I bruised yours in return!

And there are times I bled your pride

Shamed your name

Cloud your fame

But all the while you held my hand.

They tell me love, sweet love

Gives you fireworks;

Makes your heart go racing;

Gives you wings to fly.

They tell me love, Sweet love

 Feels like falling;

 Sweeps you off your feet;

Makes you want to soar.

But, love is what you showed me...

I get lost in the shadows,

You show me  the light.

My storm blew;

You bend quietly till it pasts.

You held my hand though it bleeds yours;

Wiped my tears instead of yours.

You’d rather be the last so I could be the first;

The dark sky, so my star could shine bright.

You gave me hope against hopeless hours;

Forgiveness through forsaken times;

Gravity to keep my feet on the ground;

Strength when my fight is gone!

So the next time, they ask me what love is…

No, I won’t tell,

I’ll show them…

… You...!

(Found these lines scribbled and tucked away in some random folder. Brings back some really good memories.... Ah!! That feeling of being in love!! 

I shall miss it terribly...)

New Hopes and New Years

Happy New Year.

It took me a whole week in the New Year to update a blog. But this week in the New Year had been so hectic that I hardly have time to sleep. I sleep on an average of 4 hours a day. So naturally, bad skin, pimples, dark circles and swollen face are my badges of honor these days. Not the best way, but indeed a blessed way to start a New Year. 

2012 has been a hard year for me. A very hard year. Heartbreaks, breakups, health problems, family problems, deaths in the family, academic doldrums; I've had them all. I've watched my hopes and dreams crushed without mercy; castles that I've built for years crumbled to dust and carefully laid plans turned to nothing. Prince Charming rode into the sunset without me and I've said goodbye to a dear old Grandpa, who has been a patriarch in the family for decades. My bouts of depressions were sometimes so severe that many times, I feel like giving all up, go home and be a hermit (Ok! I just went overboard there!). But in spite of everything, God had plans for me.

The Mayans were right. At least about me! Heh! 21st December marked a new era in my life. Heh!! I'll let you in the details later...

So all in all, I'm glad to be here in the New Year with new hopes and dreams. I feel this year will be a good year for me. I'm blessed with new friends and new people in my life (with ages ranging from 21 through 70), people who pray for me when needed and laugh with me when times are good. I've finally learnt how to count my blessing and not my loss. I've also learnt how to let go and forgive myself for the wrongs I've done. Well, who am I not to forgive myself when God does?!

It's just been a week into the New Year and I'm already making miraculously speedy progress in my research - something which has been collecting cobwebs and mildew for the past year. It has been such a good start to a new year.

So here's to a Happy New Year, a new year filled with new hopes and new dreams...

Photo Journal: The week leading to Christmas

Merry Christmas everyone, even though I am posting this on the 26th.

Here I am, all jumbled up in a quilt that came as a Christmas gift from someone I've never met or known before. My little piece of Christmas miracle! I love the little surprises that God tends to throw my way! Yet, I'm tired and physically exhausted from all the activities that I, as a Mizo Christian, am privileged enough to partake during the Christmas season. My throat is sore from all the singing and for the first time in my life, I am sore from dancing in church! Heh!! (Ka hlimsan kum chuan 'exer' ka la tha kher mai!)

But here's another photo post on my week leading to Christmas.

Yep! We got lucky! Zama got discharged (on request) after 9 days at the hospital. This was Day 8. Finally a fever-free day after a week. And the first thing he had to do was scrub his face. Call it whatever you want, I still call it vanity!

Our makeshift Nativity skit at our Sunday School Christmas party during the story-telling hour. The kids came up with their own lines and we had to 'make' baby Jesus from a sweater, wrap it in a t-shirt and draw his face! Heh! The gifts from the three wise men were throw-pillows too! Makeshift skit indeed!

I should stop embarrassing these two! But clearly, it seems Buata and I are the only ones who could stay awake even out of cordiality. Heh! This time they fell into slumber right in the middle of a 'thingpui senhang' conversation after lunch with an elderly couple. Manners, my dears!!

Nonetheless! Love you both. Much!!

My little bakers and their creation of chocolate chip cupcakes! Tastes better than anything I've ever baked. I'm so proud of them distributing their cupcakes to everyone that evening! I should take lessons from them and remember to appreciate all that they have done that evening.

 What's 'zaikhawm' without coffee in papercups??

Nope, we ain't singing! That's my good friend Ricky and I, leading the Delhi Mizo Christmas Eve Programme at Mizoram House. After lots of songs, prayers and a myriad of special items, we ended the programme with a Midnight mass.

Need I say more, this next picture sums up the meaning of the season's greetings!

And I thought I would have more pictures on Christmas day. But I was on my 'nuthlawi attire' with puan and flats dancing my way to satisfaction on the zaikhawm dancefloor. What can I say?? It's my hlimsang year! Haih Jish!

And while uploading this, I thought I'd make do with hostel mess for dinner while everyone back home is at the Christmas feast. But I just got a phonecall with a dinner invitation from a family nearby. I told you so, God and his little surprises! I try to never take anything for granted anymore.

Merry Christmas again!