When did I get so lazy?

It’s a rainy Monday morning. The children have left for the day, so has my husband. The clouds hang low across the trees on the hill in the distance, caressing the uninterrupted greenery on the horizon. I sit with the newspaper on my lap. My maid hands me a hot cup of tea to start my day. Bird calls surround me while a cool breeze blows in through the kitchen window. I look out the balcony and see the clouds caressing the treetops, moving aimlessly together, and then apart, unsure of the plan for the day ahead. Like me.

“It’s mid-January oready” – as the locals say. Three months since I moved to Singapore – this multicultural oasis that is now home. It has been a time of transition for the family and not just in the “we just moved here from India” sense. My husband and I, through our decision to marry, are in the process of building our blended family. We each had a daughter through our previous marriage and now we are four in a new place, a new job for him, new schools for the girls and of course, a new family of our own.

It feels a little strange, not being a single parent any more. There is once again, a spouse, another adult under the same roof to share the days’ details – like the leaking sink or plans for the weekend. It is reassuring to not have to worry about paying the rent or running out to a full-time job to keep the home fires burning. It feels wonderful to have full-time help at home to take care of the mundane chores that form the bane of every housewife. For the first time in a long time, I am free to pursue my dreams, with time on my hands and no impending worries about the future. I have the support that I have craved – physical, material and emotional. I have in front of me days of unstructured time when the girls are in school, with no other distractions, time in which I can do exactly as I please. In short, this is the life I have always dreamt of. An environment that is totally conducive to writing. But I find myself stumped.

I go to the library every week. Sometimes I borrow books. Other times I just browse. I came across a book last week titled “When did I get so busy?” – a typical self-help book for those whose lives and chores have taken over their days. The book was meant to help such people carve out time for meaningful tasks in order to make the most of their life. There was a time I would have picked up this book and surely have used at least a few tips to simplify my life. Those were the days when I held a full-time job and every day was filled with to-do lists. I hastily put the book back. That life seems so remote from the one I lead now.

Why am I not writing regularly any more? Is it writer’s block? I don’t think so. I have plenty of ideas about topics to write about and hardly anything else to do. But each day comes in marching hopefully and goes out limping and I have nothing to show for it. And this has repeated for 100 days now. What message from the universe am I waiting for to begin my writing project?

“Procrastiparna!” – that is what Aparna’s status on Whatsapp says today. I love this newly coined term that aptly describes her, the typical narcissistic teenager that she is, this older daughter of mine. I smiled when I saw that. And then stopped short.

I think the message I had been waiting for was not to be found on a banner flown in the sky but has been channeled through a closer source, not just closer to home, but from within the home. Thanks, Aparna – for the wake up call. Let me not waste another perfectly beautiful day of freedom. I am back doing what I love, reading and writing. This one is for you.