Letter #2
Dear Nim,
I wish we could beat the sunrise and wake up one day with the glamor of living in the present moment. Some things are just meant to be. We seek purification, we seek perfection, we seek it all. Yet, we never feel happy, nor do we ever believe we’ll get there. Where is the peace of mind? Where is the light at the end of the tunnel? Isn’t that what your name means? Nirmal, the pure? You’ve got the purest voice when you sing, but often when you speak, I feel you’re enraged and conflicted. Maybe I am too. Talking about life, worlds, and travels often brings regrets. I've always wished to vagabond and roam the earth. But my wings have been clipped: my job, my society, my paycheck, the system, my own decline. I’ve simply ground to a halt.
No one ever told me about the things that matter; why? Why is the truth always so vague?
I’ve always wanted to go places, but the places seemed to me. The people I met at the bar and the stories they told—New York, Paris, Berlin, the moon. The coffee shops they explored, every day trying something new, every day tasting different flavors. Do these people exist now, or am I merely imagining them? One day, as a customer told me a story, the rain began to fall outside. I could only smell it from afar, wishing I could bask in the drizzle, hear a voice singing, or perhaps dance naked. The purple neon flickered, and I was trapped indoors under hazy neon lights.
Nim, I wish life would pass slowly, but it continues to run faster. Every morning, I wake up hoping for an omen. I wish I could wake up and not go to work. Often, the sun beats me and sets before I finish my shift, and I miss it. Sometimes, I wish a faint lightning bolt would strike me—gentle, barely visible—and transport me to another realm. Did you infect me with the disease of dreaming? Should I stay grounded, or should I learn to dream like you?
There’s a price for everything: thinking big and thinking small. Which is better? Which is worse? Was it a sin that I tried to keep my job, becoming a listener for my customers? Was it wrong to be a muse for others while forgetting myself, forgetting to fight my own battles? I would gain weight, then lose it, then gain it again. My mood swings, my tendency toward depression, the antidepressants, the melatonin… Nim, would it be weak of me to ask why you left? Maybe there’s a calling, one that could change everything.
Mei