Zemira

Moving on wasn't just difficult, it was next to impossible. As easy as those words might sound, the process was herculean. Most times during my therapy, that word had an exposing effect on me. After all, I was supposed to move away from the comfort of the familiar to embrace the cold, unknown future.

Moving on also required reinforcements, lots of it.

Thankfully, I had Kiera to ensure I didn't rekindle my alcoholic love affair. Then there was Dad, helping me learn how to walk the track of life after my fall. Oddly, he monitored my food intake as well. Observing him, I concluded a major chunk of his worry revolved around what food I consumed and how much sleep I got.

Being locked up in an institution for two whole months gave me some perspective on what went wrong with my life.

I let the love for a man choke my survival instincts. My assumption that I needed to be saved, harmed me further. Despair did the rest, siphoning hope and happiness.

Through months of intensive therapy and hearing Dad's version of honoring Mom's wishes, I found my source of peace. Sometimes letting go was the best option one could choose. Knowing that my love wouldn't meet its reciprocation, I swallowed the truth like a bitter pill.

In loving Leo, all I did was fall, hard and fast, breaking my bones and crushing my soul. Having now navigated the ocean of sorrows, I came to realize that some love stories may never be inscribed with a happy ending tag. It would only carry a comma, a brief pause stretching for all eternity while love withered away.

That was my story with Leo - held by a pause, awaiting the never-arriving completion.

These past few days had been a centrifuge of all that. It also led to a newer realization - there was never a better time than now for me to change and refurbish my life.

~

I walked into Dad's peace and privacy sanctum – his study. The war room - as he used to call the place - was used on rare occasions, for discussing trade secrets or coming up with new plans for business expansion.

Unless a matter of life or death, I refrained from encroaching into that area.

"Dad, I need a favor." Ironically, the first step towards independent living started with seeking help.

My eyes rolled inwards at my privileged upbringing but Dad smiled, bobbing his head. "I don't understand why you'd have to ask for permission, kiddo. You can just call up the office and tell them how much you'd like to withdraw."

How was it that in the past I had shamefully asked him for money but upon trying to make an honest living, I was crushed beneath rubbles of pride? Even my confidence wavered in asking for what felt right.

Dad walked across his desk and tipped my face. "Is something wrong?"

His voice was heavy, laden with concern that made me realize yet another mistake of mine.

All through my life, I tried for an easy way to live. Even to secure the failing future of our hotel business, I sought a stranger's help. In the aftermath of everything that occurred, I was glad that my plans crumbled into dust.

Sometimes things required turning into ashes for one to rebuild foundations again.

"Nothing's wrong, Dad," I answered his initial question. His wrinkled face relaxed. "I wanted to ask for your permission. Can I interview for a vacancy at our company? For the NGO coordinator position that helps destitute women."

Dad scanned the place behind me but knowing him, he was replaying what I said and evaluating if I was being serious. His mouth remained ajar for long; longer was his unblinking expression.

I waved my hand near his face. "Dad!"

"I'm sorry. I think I misunderstood something." He gulped water from the bottle on the table, peeling its label. "You mean you want to interview someone, right?"

"No, not interview someone." My hands waved across my sides, my head swinging in tandem. "I want to be interviewed for the job. I've already contacted the place and the vacancy is still open. So can I?"

Again, his ajar mouth and unblinking eyes greeted me.

"Daddd..."

My dad resembled a two-year-old kid, daydreaming. When his gaze landed on me, I saw the melted concerns in his eyes freeze. His smile turned to a deeply set frown. His forehead crinkled and the glimmer in his eyes lessened with each passing moment.

"Why'd you want to interview? And why on earth do you want a job, my child?"

"Let me say my peace." Before Dad could conjure up anything to guilt trip me from my stance, I placed my finger on his lips. He nodded at me to continue.

"I want a job that I've earned and not something handed to me because of my last name. I don't have any experience and so I want to start at the NGO and work my way up. I want to handle the reins of our company one day, Dad." I smiled upon realizing how this time, I didn't want to run from my responsibilities. "I want you to retire in peace, Dad, and not worry about the future of our business."

After my breath-consuming speech, I dropped my head onto his chest.

He waited for a moment, probably churning my words up for digestion. Then as quickly, he pulled me closer, wrapping him around me. 

His embrace was warm and nurturing like always. I could feel it in my chest, him beaming with pride.

"I'd never wanted you to work in your life. After all, all this is for you, for your future, kiddo." He peeled me off his embrace, mist forming in the corners of his eyes. "...My daughter shouldn't have to work a day but she wouldn't be denied her chance at it either."

A dam of tears burst open. Dad wiped away the hanging teardrop at my waterline, crumpling his face that always made me smile.

"One thing's for sure." He cleared his throat, wheezing in whatever little air was available in the room. "You'll not cry again. I won't allow it," he said, his wobbly voice hitting me.

"Agreed." I held onto him tighter, sniffing into his lapel. "Think we'd enough of crying for a day."

He chuckled, patting my back. "No. We've had enough crying for years to come."

If only that were true.

~

As Dad promised, I got a chance for an interview without his intervention.

Truth be told, everyone in the organization already knew who I was. My face was flashed in the media more than that of 'The Bachelors' contestants. The rest of the lot - who didn't watch sappy reality shows - knew me from the gossip portals on social media.

Still, the special treatment that I expected never came.

In a refreshing turn of events, the head of the organization - Elaine, grilled me so hard with her questions that I began stumbling at my answers. Perhaps, what impressed her was my acceptance of the fact that I didn't have any experience but was willing to make it up with sheer enthusiasm and hard work.

Suffice it to say, I got the job.

After three months since I suffered from heartbreak, a dark phase of depression followed by recovery, I felt at peace. Once again, life tracks reemerged from the fog of doubts and insecurities, readying to lead me home.

On the first day of my job, I woke up at five. I wasn't able to sleep so the moment the first light of dawn peeked through the window, I hopped off the bed and began my chores.

By six-thirty, I was bathed, brushed and in my office attire, peering at the reflection. I checked and rechecked my briefcase, although there was nothing in it.

As I opened my drawer to assemble my stationary, I saw Tag's letters.

Had it been my pre-depression phase, the past would have come rushing back to flood my mind. I would have dropped to my knees, lamented like a lost child and would have let the silence of the place devour me.

My older version should be proud of what I have accomplished. Zemira 2.0 wasn't a scared little girl who sought help from strangers.

I didn't need saving or validation from anyone. All my troubles and learnings had fused into my bones, invigorating me for the next challenge.

I picked up Tag's letters, running a finger over the creases before placing them back into the comfort of my drawer. Instinctively, Leo's face and his last words to me drudged up.

Even after three whole months, Leo's memories brought a mild ache in the void of my heart. But it also rendered a smile.

I walked out of my room for my first job, ready to earn a place for myself in Dad's company.

~

Sometimes all you can do is move on and save yourself.

Ever faced a situation like this? Where letting go was the only way possible to lead a happy life. Let me know...