paradox

even in death you bleed , love

to be named after grief: refusal to disappear, to just exist ;

Tapalabdha, 

in bengali origin , it’s roots,

means someone who resists immediacy. it is said to come after you endured and chanted lullabies 

while you knew the made up gods you’ve always prayed to would listen , grant it to you one day/timing 

its stained needy with the light to prove 

 it originates not from what is, 

but what comes after: one who is received after penance, 

one who is granted only upon the completion of endurance, it’s always weighed heavily on my chest how i was a child when i was made to own

it , almost like I was born into it .

when my mother first held me on the day I was birthed ,

the first things said to me were, 

“my angel you’re finally here ,

emerged from tapasya—austere devotion, you’re proof that it was all good damage 

you’re the gift of my  disciplined suffering—and labdha, for how I attained or bestowed upon  all of it .

The grammar of the name is conditional yet it’s sure it stands , it owns 

your Existence is not assumed; it is earned. “ 

now all of my love has turned to anger or 

maybe the bane of existence was deliberately placed alongside  w me as I went to sleep in the crib next to her ; did they ever care enough to ask me? do I only exist to prove my love now ? 

still  grief never ever stops lingering on,it’s always been too suffocating to breathe  ever since I can remember 

since blue  chose to live in my entire emptiness I decide to shift in with the chaos , I let her have it 

she’s in need now ,

maybe she’s just been abandoned before /acceptance

is this a condition because 

It is not abstract. 

My mother named me Tapalabdha 

after losing and chose sickness to bring me here, she’s older now I notice everyday how the pain creeps into her bones weakening her , she’s still so beautiful to me .

every breath has always felt like something tangible that echoed  after grief repeated itself until pain became almost ritualistic, abandoning humanity . 

I think I know now that we’re all meant to suffer .

In that sense, my name is not symbolic but archival, ancient almost 

It is a record of survival that predates my memory. i was named not for who I might become,

but for what had already been endured so that I could arrive, what does all of this even mean?

all I  want  is  all I lost, give it  back  to me breathings gotten so much harder now but 

do I really have to prove my pain 

when I’m sure of   how it’ll be compared alongside the depths of my scar , it’s destined written already . I don’t want to be a concept anymore , when will I know it’s real ?

who  decides  how deep it stayed ?or js because it’s never enough ? I don’t think I’ll ever completely know now , I promise I try . 

the writers argue that names often are dependent on their worth that’s already been proven in the social scripts rather than recognising, their light

It’s almost blinding to even want to recognise 

for as long as I can remember all I asked was for someone to stay .

my roots tell me  ,especially more consistently these days how 

names frequently carry moral weight—aspiration, prophecy, repayment. 

now its like time is screaming in my face , almost successful in proving how the worlds Tapalabdha does all three. 

it’s all about the perspective I learnt

and all the things you’d never see , funny how this proves that it ,does come down to awareness and js been able to understand /walking contrary of a mortal is all I am .

It situates my existence within a cosmology of cause and consequence , I still belive it’s all for nothing 

love we can never forget , 

can’t escape and there’s no running around . I think I’m tired of questioning the reality 

the need to find a way out of this labyrinth that has already been left behind is stronger now /breakthrough.

I think the Big Bang was the universe’s biggest heartbreak , all annihilated and when 

two were sent back to earth by the holy trinity when we 

were only meant to life ,cause and consequence arrived now I carry it as identify ,

To bear it is to inherit an implication: that my witness must somehow be adequate to the suffering that preceded it.

For a long time, this felt unbearable, 

have I ever admitted how I’ve never let anyone call me by the word , almost like I’m someone else 

it’s been said but never used , I’ve always been the one person who is know by a pseudo name because the real one I’ve been told too many times it’s  too long or there’s always been uncertainty and it’s js easier to not pronounce it . maybe the silence is really getting louder now because how will I ever cure a mind that’s so unwell , too many things to forgive to forget.

I did not grow up inhabiting my name; I grew up adjusting  it. 

always shortening it 

altering  it to other people’s literary capability 

the voices been telling me how I’m js a coward , 

a fraud , how far will I run to continue hiding 

it offered others long before they asked. 

Tapalabdha felt too exposed—too rare, too foreign, too declarative. 

It demanded explanation , 

And explanation demanded ownership so I learned, quietly, to introduce myself otherwise. I dimmed my light in order to be seen , my friend back in 11th grade told me how he urges to see  me as the brightest star , everything’s too much to think about these days . The lesser you know the better , 

awareness kills me everyday I’d rather not know but now I know .

language reminds us that names are not neutral labels; they are acts of positioning , now what ?

To say one’s name aloud is to consent to being seen within its frame. 

i was not always ready for that frame, always the one who got away never the chosen one 

almost like shame in its heaviness, 

in its insistence, in the way it arrived before I did. I’m js a reflection now , stars dying .

Yet avoidance does not erase inheritance.

 last year I got into a crash 

I remember the first darkness I saw stillness settle 

yet I still woke up with an unfamiliar clarity: I had arrived again/burden ,never goes away .

Survival did not feel metaphorical; it felt like reality, like proof .

Something about continuing to exist echoed the logic of my name in a way I could no longer ignore, never mind my thoughts are growing louder.

I had been labdha once more—not through enlightenment, perhaps, but through rupture. 

maybe it’s time I accept that change really is the only constant , maybe this time around I learn to accept actions over time. 

learn to Seize the day 

, get out of my misery , my mind , is this a sign ? who’s watching ? Who’s my master? Who acts and who watches ? where do I belong ? is there someplace that’s mine ? 

my minds a black hole and lines are starting to blur 

each passing day .

Identification describes this tension as the cut between assigned identity and performed identity,paradox .

Tapalabdha is assigned—rooted in lineage, grief, faith, and expectation, it’s true how  mirrors hurt to look at more when your visions are clouded with fear, lies you feed yourself because it was forced down your throat and your screams never came.

Toa is performed—chosen, softened, survivable. I have lived between these names not as contradiction, but as negotiation. 

One tells the story of why I am here. The other tells the story of how I remain. Harmony is all I’ve ever prayed for .

I do not claim reconciliation. 

I am still learning how to inhabit a name that asks so much of existence

it’s always weighed heavy , the pressure is all on me 

to accept this is to know what it truly means .

But today I  no longer deny its architecture. 

If Tapalabdha signifies arrival after endurance, then perhaps it is not a demand for existence but for contradiction and continuation 

no alarms and no surprises please 

i admit it is quieter than that day but 

perhaps  it only asks for continuation—for presence without apology, to know to be safe . 

my name is not destiny. It is context. And living within it is not an achievement, but a privileged practice—ongoing, unfinished, and mine , but have I really endured enough

how will it be measured this time around 

 how will I ever be enough ? Is this real or maybe the drugs are getting to me now .