Letter to a Friend who took care of me during my dark days

Dear Barun,

Today isn't your birthday, neither is mine. Today is not any other special day as well. However, when all my newsfeed is filled with the advice of not giving up and reaching out when there is any kind of problem, especially about an emotional or mental problem,  I couldn’t help but bestow my thankfulness to you.

I am not being able to comprehend how people are saying to reach out via social media; when the people who are in turmoil would never be able to figure out the right time to keep on working on themselves independently, and the right time to ask for help. Moreover, how is that possible when they don’t know that they are going through any kind of problem? For the introverts, it is even more difficult because they might confuse their problem with the choice of being hibernated. 

Looking at all these grand advice, I have come to realize how unaware I was a few years back that I never thought that I needed help. How would I when I was the best performer both at my school and at my work. I never felt necessary for going out or meeting anyone, all thanks to my introvert nature. My days were as happy as one could see; I thought the same for myself. I misread my panic attacks with my bad dreams. I never knew it would get worse. In short, I needed help.

But you understood. You understood without me telling you. How would I tell you even when I, myself was unaware of it?

You did not just give me your ears, you became my company 24/7. Very few people can read the emotions between the lines, you did that without even letting me know that I was going through some kind of issue. You were a phone call away. You kept on checking me without making me feel uncomfortable. I didn't feel I had any illness rather your gesture made me feel that I was being taken care of even without one. When the panic attacks were worse, you didn’t hesitate to stay by my side even in the middle of the night. I remember you taking me on a walk to Patan Durbar Square in the middle of the night. I didn’t know till then that hot milk teas were served even at night if you happen to be there. Thank Goodness, you never flaunted what you did for me in your social media. You did it with all your heart and I cannot give you anything apart from my love and thankfulness. For someone who chose to live alone since her teenage, having a company of someone all the time wasn’t appealing but I loved your company. You made me feel safe and you did that without letting me know. I needed time to heal and you gave me that.

As nights have become calmer these days, I take a moment and try to think about what would I have done without you. Was that a phase of my depression? I don’t know because I didn't go to any mental health counselor. But I wasn’t well, I know that.

Had I given up on my life if you weren't there? I don’t have an answer for that as well because I didn’t recognize my panic attacks as well. How interesting is that, that I didn’t have to take any medications? Because you were my medication. You did that so selflessly.

Thank you for being there literally and not blowing the whistle on social media. Thank you for waiting until I slept. Thank you for checking in every morning. Thank you for calling me back when my calls were missed. Thank you for hugging me tight when I was out of control.

Thank you for not giving me advice for what I had to do but making sure every stone turned from your side to make me feel better; so better that I am where I am today.

Dear Barun, I love you for who you are.
Nothing but gratitude.

Yours Truly
Bhawana

What his Death Taught Me

Sometimes I wonder how different life would have been if he was still alive.

Not that his thought crosses my mind all the time. However, I would be lying if I share that it doesn't hit at all.

Before you continue reading with the assumption that I am a depressed woman stuck in my past relationship, let me clarify that I am a happily married woman. But again, there are days as quiet and solemn as tonight that I miss him. It is such a paradox that his death feels both fresh and distant at the same time.

I miss how ambitious he was. He had hung up our last phone call just saying how busy he was at the moment that he had to meet one of his clients and would call me later, which he never got time later. Just like most of our 25-year-old Nepali (wo)man , he was buried under the societal expectations of how a son should be; how a boyfriend should be; how an elder brother should be; how much he had to earn; how busy he had to be.

I miss how gullible he was. He was so naïve that he didn’t realize that life was too short to fulfill his dreams. Rather than pressurizing himself on all those mundane tasks, I wish he had recorded a few more songs that he loved doing the most. But he was so gullible that he thought he could do all of them in his 50s after his retirement.

I miss how honest he was. Every evening he used to return home all disappointed with his clients for not understanding him. He knew deep inside it wasn’t his clients but his hatred towards his job. He was an engineer, interestingly, a career, again so many Nepali run after. But he was doing it just for the sake of doing it as what he wanted to be was a singer. We used to have long conversations about how hopeless he was with life yet optimistic at the same time.

I miss how anxious he was. There wasn’t a day when he wasn’t anxious. He was anxious about the targets he had to meet. He was anxious about how his younger brother would become. He was anxious about his parents’ health. He was anxious about what my parents would think of him. He was anxious about his looks though all of his friends found him smart and handsome. He was anxious if he had any career in singing.

Amid all these, what I miss most about him are his songs that he had recorded, uploaded on YouTube but then deleted later because of his low self-esteem. Even after half a decade after his tragedy on a brutal road accident, I sometimes type his name and try to search for his songs on YouTube.
I miss him not just because he was someone I loved so dearly but also with the thought that he had a unique and soothing voice and would have shined forever if he had known how to cherish those little moments that he had with his guitar.

Though he left all of us so early, what he has left us with is a teaching on how not to live a life. In times of crisis and despair, I keep on reminding myself that life is too short to worry about the things you might never achieve. The beauty is living in the present moment and enjoying the little things and little joyful moments with your loved ones.

His death has taught me not to sleepwalk through life even when it's mundane, even when its tragic, even when things are not going in the way I want. Most importantly, what his death has taught me is life goes on and it will find its way even after days and months of darkness, immobility, agony, grief, panic attacks once in a while. He wasn't supposed to die but it happened. It was definitely not in my control. What's in my control is breathing in and breathing out; feeling my breath; noticing that I am alive to fall in love, to dream, to laugh; and to be thankful.

Nothing but gratitude!