Since many years I have had this realisation that I hate Sunday evenings. No, its not the Monday Blues syndrome. There is something about Sunday evenings, a sense of finality, a sense of closure, a sense of something important coming to an end, an anxious feeling but you cannot put your finger on the reason or the cause of this anxiety. It feels like saying bye to your lover after a holiday and then each of you going to your separate city. It’s a mixed feeling of joy that you felt and sadness that you are feeling.

Sunday evenings make me reflective. Somehow, it feels like nothing really seems to be changing or moving forward. Though, in reality it is not like that at all. Things change, and move forward all the time. We plan holidays, lunches, dinners, meetings, we grow up or grow aware (though both these things are the same to my mind), meet new people, do new things, read new things, have new experiences, see new places and all that and more, but come Sunday evening and all this vanishes from the mind and I just feel slightly weighed down.

My sense is that some of us carry a heaviness within us. Feel all the feelings a bit too intensely, too vulnerable and trying to cover it up by pretending to be strong. Sunday evenings you let the pretense go take a walk and then you just feel so tired and so exhausted. And you become honest with yourself and you know something is missing and no matter how much of the world you see, no matter how many books you read, languages you learn, places you go to, experiences you go through, people you meet, will only make sense………..no, I don’t really know when they will make sense, maybe someday when I am 55 or something like that and when Sunday evenings cease to become this ominous thing, this mixed feeling phase, the one you want to stay in but also know the end is here and you can’t escape time.