— Nikita Gill

One day...I am going to wake up, look over and find you peacefully asleep beside me, I will admire how beautiful you are and I will draw you closer, showering you with tender kisses.

From March 12 to 13, 1913 Letters to Felice by Franz Kafka First published : 1973

From being a student to a guest lecturer, I manifested everything that I believe I ever wanted🧿

Indraprastha College for Women, Delhi’25

Simone de Beauvoir, from a diary entry featured in Diary of a Philosophy Student

The Journey:Yukio’s Rant

It feels like just yesterday when the idea of welcoming a cat into my life seemed like a distant fantasy, a shimmering mirage on the horizon of my imagination. Now, that dream has unfurled into reality, but not without its share of trials and tribulations.

I recall a conversation with him, my boyfriend, just moments ago. His voice was a soothing balm, assuring me that everything would be alright—that we would weather this storm together. He had chosen the runt of the litter, a delicate creature already teetering on the brink of existence. The little one was weak and fragile, a whisper of life that seemed to fade with every passing moment.

Tending to her before placing her in my care was no small feat; it felt like walking a tightrope over an abyss. There were nights when I lay awake, heart pounding, fearing that I would awaken to find her breathless and still. I kept my worries hidden beneath layers of hope until I could no longer contain them.

But today, as I look at Yukio—named after a character from Deadpool. The truth of her struggle is now a story I share openly to him and grateful for the unwavering faith he had in me. That faith belonged to him—her foster father, who nurtured her before entrusting her to my care.

The notion of co-parenting a cat was never etched into my plans; it was an unexpected twist in the narrative of my life. I had always envisioned myself as an independent figure, navigating the world solo with my feline companion. Yet here I am, sharing this journey with him—a dream that peaks into traditional boundaries.

Yukio now has two homes filled with love and attention from two humans. I am not merely a single mother like the Internet portrays these days; rather, I am part of a duo—a feminine spirit nurturing a cat who receives equal affection from both her foster parents.

I am grateful for Yukio’s presence in my life, just as I am thankful for him—the man who knows exactly what to say to remind me that I deserve this happiness. His words are like gentle waves lapping at the shores of my insecurities, assuring me that love is abundant and shared.

[Some Snippets]

25.09.2024

28.12.2024

He does not know, that the world pauses for him, breath held,

Watching the art of him falling, calling it beauty While he calls himself blank.

If only you knew, how spellbound I am for you, watching the chaos of you, turning into stillness,

Watching your sorrow as it knows how to make everything shine.

(Darjeeling’21)

— Franz Kafka, The Castle | The Lovers of Valdaro

born to be an abstract concept, forced to be a percievable entity

I gave you a love so vast it could have swallowed cities whole. I built galaxies in my chest just to make room for you, carved out pieces of my soul and called them home so you would never feel alone. I was there and offering, but you… you only ever loved the echo of me, the shadow I cast in your mind, not the woman who bled herself dry to be enough. You didn’t love me. You loved the idea of being loved by someone like me. And that was the slow undoing.

You were never really there, not when I shattered quietly in rooms we shared, not when I fell asleep hoping you would see me again, not just look at me. I held up the heavens for us while you watched, arms folded, eyes elsewhere. And still, I stayed. Still, I gave. Foolish, maybe. Devoted, definitely.

Now, that it’s all gone. I have crossed oceans of pain to reach a shore where your name doesn’t burn on my skin anymore. I am somewhere better, freer, lighter. And just when I have stitched myself together with gold thread and midnight prayers, you come back.

You come back with a whisper of apology, a handful of words you never had the courage to speak when I was drowning right in front of you. Why now? Why always after?

It is the cruel theater of time, isn’t it? The final act where ghosts knock at your door once you have already exorcised them. People see your worth only in absence, crave your presence only when it is no longer a gift they are entitled to. Love should never be a posthumous award.

And yet, here I am, haunted not by you, but by the echo of who I was when I loved you. And that is the deepest ache of all.

(Darjeeling’22)