I sat on the window seat staring outside for a long time. It was strange. For an onlooker, it must have looked as if I was gazing out of the window on the scenes passing by, as if I have never been to this place before. But I do not have any vivid memory of the scenes. My mind’s eye was wandering somewhere else. Somewhere in the realms of a complex twisted whirlpool of jumbled thoughts and memories. Now when I think of it, I wonder, is that what being lost is? To apparently be in some place, but to be truly in someplace else? Because if that is so, then most of us are lost. Cause truly our eyes speak stories, silent stories of the places we are lost in.

I have always felt this paralysis when it comes to making a decision about the important things. I feel unrest, I turn obsessive compulsive over the situation and over think and put myself to sleep. It gives me anxiety and my days pass me by. But somehow, in my heart I always know that the answer will come to me. In its own time. And so it does. In bits and pieces. Now and then. Here and there. And then one day, it just clicks. And then the decision is made.

So the other day when I sat in the train, I wasn’t really lost. I was found. By my answer.

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