Take A Moment

Dear friend,


This morning, I had breakfast with three local men and a Russian woman, drank Baileys at 10:00 a.m. and was offered cocaine. A typical morning for me, really.

I am in Goa, a treasure in the south of India, where I fall asleep to the sound of the crashing waves and live with soft grains of sand between my small toes. It is my fifth day here; I've two to go. On Saturday, I will leave to Delhi, and on Sunday, I will be home. As joyous as I feel to reunite with my family, snuggle my little Louie, sleep in my own bed and eat a burger and some chocolate mousse cake (the two requests I have asked of my mother upon my arrival), I will miss India, for more reasons than one, and in a greater sense than I would have imagined. On my last night in this country, I will write a lengthy letter to provide further insight into my mind and the depths of this experience, but today, on this lovely, warm day, with the sun on my back and the breeze caressing my naked face, I would like to write about this very moment, and what I have learned about the power of a moment.

Since I can remember, I have looked ahead. As a young girl, I dreamed of being older. I counted the days until my birthday, passed my time watching those passing by me in their twenties, thirties, forties. I watched how they laughed, watched how beautiful they were, envied their seemingly perfect lives, and wished profoundly that this, too, could be the way of my life. I thought of marriage and my own children, divorce, and who my second husband would be. With an imagination stretching far beyond my own body, I enjoyed my youth, but I was never quite present.

Now, as a young woman soon reaching my twenties, I have come to certain conclusions. This trip to India, generally, has taught me many a valuable lesson. My time in Goa, specifically, has taught me a lesson I needed desperately to understand.

I have been alone these past six weeks, in the sense that I was not in the constant company of another, in the sense that I was in a room alone, in the sense that I traveled by myself. Yet, when I was in Bodhgaya, I didn't just have myself as company. For four weeks, another volunteer, Cédric, joined the project and became a friend. The school director, Brajesh, was always a phone call or a few feet away, and the children, the beloved children, were the source of my smile my every day there. When in my room, I was joined by the sound of the hundreds of people outside my window honking and beeping their way through the roads, silence only falling with the sun; and when walking through the streets, I was joined by strangers whose curiosity guided their footsteps towards me and whose questions I answered as often as I took a breath.

I was alone, but very much not so.

The Anahata Retreat, where I have been living these past few days, is an ideal location for a honeymoon, a romantic holiday, a place to celebrate one another and the view. The rooms are in private wooden beach shacks, each in the shape of an octagon, adorned with a beautiful, lavish bed in the center, four doors that open outwards to a personal balcony that hugs the entirety of the hut, and a catalogue-worthy bathroom and rain shower (gifting me my first hot shower in six weeks). There are pairs of everything: two bathrobes, two bath towels, four pillows. There is one of me. I have been asked repeatedly by the staff and guests if I am alone, if I will be joined by my family this evening, and why a girl is in a place like this by herself? I tell them I was in Bihar for six weeks and thought it would be nice to see a different part of India in my last few days here; I'm asked if I feel lonely, and I don't hesitate to shake my head, no. I am happy to be truly, completely, unashamedly alone--even when I'm surrounded by couples. I suppose I've not given myself the opportunity to be away, detached, disconnected from all for a week before, and I didn't realize the gravity of this. It is so important to allow yourself some time to think, and only think. Peacefully. Graciously.

I've spent many hours thinking about my current life: who I am now, who are the people in my life who I love, who are the people in my life who love me? I think of what I'd like to become, and how far I have come from who I once was.

A tremendous development for myself, over the past few weeks, I have not only accepted, but begun to love my body; my face without makeup; my powerful thighs; my delicate chest. I look in the mirror and there is no longer any hatred--there is only peace, and care. For the first time in a long time, I am taking care of myself.

I'm proud of myself for having sat on a plane to a world so alien from my own. I'm proud of myself for adjusting and molding to entirely different ways in an entirely different culture. I'm proud of myself for holding on when, at times, my trip was difficult. I'm proud of myself for embracing the unknown, trusting my judgments, adventuring, and taking something from the experience. I'm honored, and humbled, to have met the kids.

I'm growing up, and I feel younger and freer than I did in my youth.

I've found the things that matter to me in this life, and I've found they are simple. I've found that my opinion of myself, and the opinion of me held by those I love, are the only opinions I take to heart. Once so paralyzed by the thoughts of others, I've released myself from that heavy, suffocating pressure. I've disconnected from those who harmed me; I wish them well always, but I've let go.
I've found I care far, far more about my brain and my heart than I do about my exterior. Not so long ago I felt what I looked like was all that mattered to others. I dyed my hair blonde, wore makeup so heavy the sink water would turn a wheel of colors upon its removal, wore tight clothing and took on the role of a girl who simply was not me. Insecure, and only ever seen from a shallow perspective, I believed people were only interested in how I looked, and cared not to come close enough to see who I was. I no longer put any weight on what someone thinks of my appearance. My hair is now my natural color, I wear very little makeup, and my clothes are light. If I wish to dress up, it is only because I wish to. If you compliment my look, I will smile slightly, but please know, to me, this is an empty compliment. If you search my mind and find there is something far more interesting there than there is about the hair that falls around it, you will find a smile far more genuine, one emerging from within.

I've found there is no shame in being happy with who you are.

Each day in India has given me something to think about. I hope, when I go home, I do not get lost in the pressures of tomorrow. I hope I am still able to live completely in the today, as I have been for weeks, and that I'll maintain this state of mind. Should I find myself drifting, I must only remember to take a moment to be by myself and have the liberty to think.

I encourage you to do the same.


A warm hug,


Natalia


P.S. A beach in India is not required for this exercise--I just happen to be here.


P.P.S. No, I did not accept the offer to do cocaine so, no, I was not high when I wrote this. I merely mentioned this morning as another memory for the books.