I just finished reading a short story called "Nearly Departed" by Twinkle Khanna. The deep underlying message of the story resonated with my recent state of mind and I garnered the courage to write this note to myself.

Although her protagonist, an 86-year-old who suffered from a stroke, was seeking euthanasia, a hospital-assisted suicide was not exactly something I support. Still, her story of accepting the responsibilities of others in her life and how one courageous act of staying with her ill father had slowly eroded her made sense to me.

I decided that I needed a bit of madness and foolhardiness in my life. I am tired of being the sensible one. In fact, all of us should be a little footloose in life. We are so bogged down by the pressure of responsibilities and obligations of life that we totally miss being us and suffer silently. Adulthood can be taxing especially if you are the one fending for all your familial dependency. We need to rise for ourselves.

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So, if I say, I matter the most to myself, am I being selfish? I want to take care of my wounded wings that were clipped even before I could take flight. I want to replenish my parched soul that has been battered and bruised with the load of others. If I say I am emotionally exhausted from being selfless and lending all my strength to others, will I be judged?

How do I assess my success and my worth as a being? In fact, who is keeping the tab on my failures and those rare few accomplishments? I realised after passing almost two-thirds of my life that ultimately no one is truly yours. You cannot claim anyone as your own—parents, spouse, children, or friends. None!

It does not matter how cordial your connection is with them; you are always alone in that crowd of dear faces.

My life just zoomed past me fending for others, taking care of everyone's wishes, whims, and wants. Then one fine morning I realised I had done a rotten job acting all selfless and self-sacrificing. And nobody cares what I did or not did for them. They never asked me to be noble and self-effacing or to be accommodating. So, why am I fretting for their sake?

I learnt in life that to give your 100 percent to any one of your relationships you have to lose more than what you gave to that person, in regards to any other responsibility.

If you want to be a picture-perfect daughter to your ageing parents you lose almost 50 percent of being a hands-on mother. To give full attention to your child, you lose out on being a happy spouse. To be a caring partner, you need to drop more than half of your self-dignity to be that "understanding and sacrificing" person in the relationship.

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For any kind of misgiving in any one of these relationships, you are blamed black and blue, at least emotionally if not physically. The brunt of the emotional storm you face is a deadly killer, it eats away the small nuances of your good life, your identity, your self-worth and your sanity.

Yes, I am ranting and being sappy because I want to. I want to read aloud this note to myself that it's ok to be sad; who cares if I am not appreciated or acknowledged for the sacrifices I made!

I am true to myself; I did the best I could for my loved ones, and if my best is not good enough then I cannot be blamed. I only had this meagre 100 percent to give.

Thus, now I want to live for myself, I want to spoil myself with that forbidden icecream, be that unsocial grouchy old hag, or that madly happy 50-something. I want to drown myself in giddy pleasures society says no to me. Most importantly, I do not want to care.

I want to attain nirvana where nothing matters except for my Zen state of mind. It's not an easy hike to be able to reach that raised ground of grace and spirituality but once there, I will be sorted. My forever fidgety yin and yang will be synchronised.

The negative, dark, and feminine in me will complement the positive, bright, and masculine also in myself. And I, after crossing the many ditches in my relationships, the deep abyss of grief and sorrow of motherhood and loads of bumps along the way as a woman, realised I have little to no time for myself to be carefree and happy before I die or become someone else's liability. I do not want that, actually I don't deserve any more guilt.

Having gone through so much angst and unfortunate faults in my destiny I never want to rely on others for my contentment. I will give myself the love and care I always craved for. I am my own woman; I will still rise as Maya Angelou said.

Raffat Binte Rashid is editor of My Dhaka at The Daily Star.

Views expressed in this article are the author's own. 

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