78: Switch

19 Mar

Sometimes it all feels like a dream, or an alternate reality, to be more real.

Sometimes I find myself wondering where I am and how my life’s just switched from one to the other, like a transition that enjoys pronounced dichotomies.

A just walked up to me as I was browsing through photographs, feeling how photographs generally make one feel.

And all of a sudden I couldn’t comprehend where I was or what I was doing here, in this house, in this space, in this whole new life so measurably different from the ones those photographs absorbed me in.

Am I really married? Is this person opening this jar of walnuts really my husband? Wasn’t I just sprawled on my own bed thinking about walks at Ulsoor Lake and beers at Windsor Pub, classroom conversations and how funny our eyebrows really looked back in college?

I did come across pictures of A when we first decided to meet, and then eventually met. What’s he doing here with me now, where’s my nook on my sunshine yellow bed next to ma’s, why’s he hanging around here like he and I belong here, like we’re on our own now, I wondered.

Strange as it was, and as sober as I am, it’s such a warp to get lost in the world of memories, now prefixed with old attached to them. It’s a mindfuzz to come back, make the switch, and get on as if nothing ever changed.

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