Rest, at least for me, is still a contested territory. It is not something I am claiming for myself with ease as of yet. Rest, or even a slower than usual rhythm (and who said that our usual rhythm is natural or good for us) comes tingled with guilt, with a sense of truancy, it tastes of stolen chocolates that I am trying to eat so quickly I choke. Worse, it comes with it’s own countdown. What I want for myself is rest as practice, not as concept. Rest that is guilt-free and resentment-free. Rest that is it’s own space, not squeezed to the margins. Rest that is not limited by the ten percent overhead rule. Rest that is not a luxury item, but a basis of a healthy life. And have you noticed how the healthy life has become a capitalist luxury item?

What I want is to deconstruct in my own head the false dichotomy between rest and work. Work as something productive, useful, selfless and good. Rest as withdrawal, selfishness and refusal. I want to define rest by what it is, not what it isn’t. Rest as yes. Yes to what? If I had a choice, a real unconditional choice, not determined by capitalism, not tinged by trauma, free from the voices of my parents, my bosses, my lovers and my haters, free from self-doubt, what would I say yes to?