Author Manisha Kanoria
“I can’t do this anymore. I think I am done.”
I called my father at 12:30 A.M, crying, from my hostel and told him. I was at a really bad place in life. It just felt nothing was going my way and everyone who mattered were drifting away. No, I wasn’t suicidal. No I wasn’t exactly depressed. I was just tired. Tired of everything.
He asked me what was wrong. I couldn’t tell him. How could I? It wasn’t about one thing, it was a lot of little things.
I cried all night. My best friend was with me the entire time. She tried consoling me. It didn’t help. Nothing did. I didn’t realize when I fell asleep.
Next day, exactly at 8:30 A.M, someone knocked on the door. I was too exhausted to get up. My friend opened the door.
There she was, my mother. My father was waiting in the reception.
My parents had actually managed to book a ticket and fly all the way to Bangalore from Kolkata and then come to my hostel within a span of 8.5 hours, all because I cried a little over the phone.
Now, I belong to a simple middle class family. I know what last minute flight tickets cost. It must have costed them months and months of saving. Yet, they were there. Right in front of me. Only for me.
Best gift ever!
It made me realize, no matter how messed up my life is, one part of my life can never ever fall apart, my parents.
They stayed with me for three days to make sure I am okay. They didn’t have to, for I felt better the instant I saw them, but I am glad they did.