There is a commitment in the weekly check-in messages I receive from my friend living in a different city. We don't talk much, but when it's their message, hope renews itself within me. Because they never fail to ask me how I'm doing. We don't talk on calls, but their texts become my anchor. Hey, I see an 80-year-old me waking up to your texts and telling you about the pain in my knees and how the new generation sucks.
There's consistency in the good morning texts from my uncle (which irritated me in the beginning but not receiving them feels like an anomaly in my universe now).
There's love when my flatmate cooks for me and talks of making healthy junk food (wheat ka cake, suji ke bhature) for me. Her wanting me to have everything I want to eat but can't because of my health makes me feel so loved.
This post is to remind me of all the love and care I forgot to acknowledge while emotionally meandering through the past few weeks. While I was busy zooming in on what I didn't have, I lost sight of the big picture in which I was constantly surrounded by warmth.
