Seven hours ago, one of my lifelong dreams came true.

You ask me how I feel? The answer right now, is I don’t know. How do you feel when something you never thought you’d live to see, happens before your very eyes? How do you feel, when the deep ache of a lifetime of grief, is suddenly, instantaneously released, evaporating into the universe? How do you feel when such a huge burden is lifted? When expectations of heartache are suddenly replaced with glee?

It’s surreal. In a moment, the whole landscape has changed, and everything is different. You’ve been so often to the depths of despair, it’s unfathomable that you’re suddenly on top of the world. It’s overwhelming, and draining, and blessedly disconcerting. I’m not complaining.

In the final innings, I was suspended in a state of disbelief. I couldn’t comprehend that it was actually happening. If you’d asked me how I would react with the final out, I would’ve told you insane screaming, jumping, uncontainable exuberance.

Instead, I cried. I cried for all the times I’d been reduced to tears before. I cried for all the fans who never got to witness their dream. I cried in sweet release of years of frustration, sadness, and confusion. I cried decades of pent up emotion. I cried for the fulfilment of inconceivable hopes and silent prayers. I cried because it felt good, and I cried because it felt right.

For once, in my years of fandom, I cried because I was happy.

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