It has been a score and three years since I was introduced to this world but I already feel as if am 50, which is just ten less than what my dad is now.
I worry more about what groceries I have to buy, the detergent running out, pending cellphone, power and another dozen bills on a daily basis. The only time I laugh is to laugh at myself. I do not cut a pretty figure.
Sometime back trains used to represent the ultimate getaway for me. Whenever I used to go to the station I always had to fight this terrible urge to get on one and run away from everything. Last time I went to the station the train represented something that I wanted to get away from, it almost threatened to take away all the things that define my existence here.
I am growing up to be incompetent in my career. Not that I am lazy or tardy with my work, I am working harder and longer and for lesser, it is just that it has become too mechanical and something of a daily irritation that gets me the darned slip called as the pay cheque. There is no more fun in innovating, especially when office politics gets the better of it, making appreciation a distant dream.
In school I looked for my own ways and meanings, come graduation I had all the tools available to write my own book of interpretations � absolute freedom and time but there were no words to write. I had absolutely nothing to fill those blank pages. I had fished in a river of what I thought was gold and I came up with nothing.
99, I have taken refuge in the capital city, education provides for an excuse to run away from the lack of words and meanings � maybe life in a different place shall provide them, put all the blame for the failure on the old place and its nasty people.
Life in a pigeon hole with three other people and not even the bare necessities. Somehow I was far happier than living in the lap of luxury with cable/car/bike/telly/godknowswotlese. Living out of a bag with just a bucket and a mattress as the only worldly belongings was somehow more satisfying.
2k, working for a living for the first time. Another round of losing again whatever that moors you to the island of sanity.
01, unhappy with everything? Best way out � take it out on yourself, get hurt so bad that it cannot hurt anymore � the pinnacle of pain. The inevitable follows, burnt out at work, shut down, quit 3 jobs, lost my favourite bike, love too, give it up all again, start from scratch again penniless and numb. Back at the starting line.
02, a year completed in absolute slavery driven by the need to accumulate the trappings of a regular life. Need to prove to everyone including yourself that yes I can � been there done that.
Financially, it looks a lot better, but the blank feeling is returning I am running out of words to describe things again, because I do not know one thing from another, my eyes are open, yet they do not see. Rather, I do not want to see. It hurts at times to see yourself. Look away.
The urge to start all over again is making faces at me from behind monstrous structures. Someday I am going to give into temptation and run after it.
But, what remains if all you do is to build, destroy and build again? Proving the same thesis over and over again does not reinforce or negate the truth it represents.
Or is it all just a grand farce?