The Lunchbox

had me shook.

I’ve been AWOL from this platform for months now, popping up ever so infrequently to get off my chest, details that are too heavy for me to process in my head. And now that I realize how much time has gone by, all I can wonder is where did it all go? What about all those promises I made to myself?

1) Write on Substack every week!
2) Workout everyday
3) Study better
Did they pan out? Absolutely not!

And whilst I sat here contemplating about all the little failures of my life I decided to watch The Lunchbox. A poetic compliment to perhaps the world’s scariest villain: Time.

One hour. Forty Four minutes. When I say the use of social media has degraded my remaining brain cells down to their last few neurons, I mean I cannot physically eat food without having YouTube on or take a shower without music playing. And yet One hour. Forty Four minutes. The movie had me hooked.

No big action sequences. No dance breaks or bright colors. No dopamine rush. Just two main characters. One setting. And One reality.

Life is going by. And nothing is stopping it. All I can do is float where the tide takes me. And that is horrifying. The starting gun has gone off and now I live on borrowed time.

The scariest part about The Lunchbox is that it quietly illustrates everything I do or am tempted to do. To close off. To isolate. To dissociate from life. To live idly and watch the world go by from my window. Waiting. Impatiently. For my life to fall into place.

Which one of us have not put up with heartbreak? Which one of us have hurt quietly for so long that we’ve learned to ignore those pangs of the heart? The pangs for purpose. Or a lack thereof. Life hurts for so long that we forget we hurt. And all we can do is look back at a memory realizing that it has gone by and holding on to it is pointless in any real sense of the world. The stillness in grief becomes comforting and comfort leaves me stationary.

But maybe I’m looking at it wrong. What if the very limited and the incredibly short amount of time we have, amplifies the beauty of this world. Maybe the only reason we are capable of appreciating those who came before us are because, for now they have left us.

The finish line is waiting for no one. And neither should I. I shouldn’t put up with the past. I shouldn’t hold on to same weight. I should allow myself time to let go and then pursue new beginnings. And in this way my soul remains in my keeping alone. Not fragmented and lacerated by my experiences with other people. But intact by love.