When March isn't as euphoric as it ought to be.

March. It's my favourite month of the year. For myriad of reasons. Most people tend to assume it's because it's my birth month and while that's a huge part of it, it's so much more than that. Did you know Nanakshahi Calendar starts the new year in March? Or that the Vaisakhi of 1699 falls in March? Spring always comes to find me in March regardless of the place I'm in. Japu-Ghar's garden, the garden I grew up in, the garden all my childhood friends along with my very first best friend are buried in blooms to it's peak in March. March in when I pay homage to Nature and to being Nature. To all that love is and all that love means. 

March is when I came to this earth. March is when I accept being human. March is when I connect to being human. March is when I realized being one with the universe didn't have to be thwarted by being Human. March is when I accepted humans were nature too no matter how far we've walked from our origins. March is when I let go of all the pain and anger I felt on behalf of all the creatures of the universe that have and are still suffering from actions of humanity. March in when I wrote the song of spring and Love (the cliché). March is when I choose to be as naïve as can be in the eyes of society. March is when I am so full of hope in the face of all adversities that a tsunami couldn't budge me, an earthquake couldn't swallow me, a volcano couldn't burn me and even a meteor couldn't eviscerate me. March is when I am in it's entirety myself no matter what. March is when I do not tone my honest self down even a smidge for the sake of human world. In March, I can crumble doubts with love, burn lies with truth, resurrect hope from the core of this earth. March, is my month. My Month. It is when I chose to come to this world because trust me, being a human was very much a choice. March is when I choose over and over again the humanity in its entirety while looking the ugliest most disgusting parts of it, in the face. March - yes, it is when I was born. But more importantly, March is when I choose to stay or move on to where I'm supposed to be. March. It's my favourite month of the year.

March. It's when all the good things happen no matter how horrid the world may be. It when the true reality wins over the things we as adults just call reality as a way of giving in to what we know is wrong but will take too long and too much of an effort to change. So we convince ourselves it's out of our hands and call it reality. March is when the international woman's day is celebrated. It is the women's history month. It is where the trans day of visibility falls. March is the blooming rebellion of best kind in all sorts of ways - in every possible way. Nature wakes up in spring and the blooms swallow all the glooms of this earth. March is spring to me. All good things happen in march.

But what happen when March is as euphoric as it always has been? What happen when spring doesn't come? The snow melt, the sun shines, the breeze flows beneath the clear blue skies but spring - it doesn't come. What then? You wait day after day and they just pass you by. No spring. No news of spring. Not even a whisper.
What do you do then? What can you do then? For before long it'll be summer and fall and winter again. But what of spring? Can you survive a whole year before spring? Is that even possible? And as waiting frays your patience and world slowly etches away at your tolerance you wonder if you can wait a whole another year for spring to come. Will your dwindling hope last long enough without being rejuvenated until the next spring? If that spring has drowned in the rising sea levels, melted away with the ice caps or burnt in the forest fires? And as the cold settles in deeper, making you hole up in yourself, you realize - you don't have to wait for spring to come find you.  You can be the spring. All that hope you've been planting all these years, you can chose to let it bloom now. And if the environment around you isn't conducive to letting the seeds sprout, you can walk away from it. Walk away and build a greenhouse so that even in the year spring has been suppressed by most of humanity, you can be the oasis where it is still welcomed as it always has been. For all good things happen in March. For March is where spring always comes to find me. For March is when I don't cut my self into bite size pieces so the world could digest me. For March is when I am Rakind. Rakind Kaur. For March, is my favourite month of the year. For March is my month. My month. And it always will be. For as long as I am human. And as long as memories of my human self remain to be.