I am almost done with hibernation. As a kid and even an adolescent, I was a bit envious of bears who get to disappear for months and return when the weather and their bodies are both better. Maybe because my prefrontal cortex wasn't developed fully, I missed out on an important point. Their subjective experience. On the face of it, even if it looked relaxing, was it truly a restful time for them? For the first time, perhaps, I think I got a taste of it. Just because you’re not drowning in deadlines doesn’t mean you’re at ease. Free time doesn’t always translate into freedom, or anything at all. Turns out, adult (young or old, still in between) hibernation looks like a mashup of Netflix and unhealthy snacks, followed by guilt, a fruit diet, journaling, reading, and watching anything that emulates healing and feeling a little empty. When people ask me how I spend my vacation, I can answer in terms of phases, phase I, when I felt I had too much time and how I'd pick up a new hobby or two and reinvent myself fully. I know- foolish, but a girl can dream, right? Phase II was where I legit started doing a couple of things, be it mandala art, plans of making healthy brownies, and reading like there's no tomorrow. I did read quite a lot this summer, and I feel happy about it. One of my favorites was The Wedding People, not because it was something groundbreaking and out of the world, but simply because it gave shape and words to feelings that are often lost with nothing to outline their depth. My sister recently claimed that my current reading list is dominated by slice of life as a genre, and it got me thinking. I've always loved those stories that leave you with a smile and hope for better days to come. Characters who feel relatable, protagonists who make you feel a little less lonely, and chapters that spell warmth in their unique way. That's one of the biggest reasons I fell in love with books. They are my greatest source of comfort, and while watching shows might come as a decent second, they can never replace them. My thirteen-year-old self dreamt of writing a similar book, but slowly I've come to realize how hard it is for your words to remain hopeful and for you to find solace... and yet, I keep trying. Because even if it’s hard, I know what it’s like to need those words.
Lately, I’ve been watching Always Home, and it reminded me of how much a show can still touch the parts of us that feel a little empty. I used to think hibernation meant withdrawal. Now I think a part of it means meeting yourself in the quiet and making peace with what wasn’t, while still finding joy in what is. Sounds much simpler and monochromatic than it is in reality, but that's living, right? You learn and unlearn a little every day. I used to envy the bears. Now I understand that they don’t wake up perfectly restored. They wake up ready to begin again. And maybe, that should be my takeaway as well. Maybe this is my quiet season, the one where I’m not becoming a new person, just remembering parts of me I’d forgotten and pieces that I'd like to add ( preferably while Mr. Darcy broods in 70mm hehe). Sometimes I think I should give a TedTalk, given the way I ramble unabashedly, but abhi ke liye itna hi..
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