Of weary dreams and worn out passions

Life, when left unbridled becomes a chore unloved. One needs to keep revisiting one’s past in order to make sense of one’s present and aspire for future. The problem that I face continuously is to strike a balance between admiration of what’s gone and desire to bring it back. To be able to do it all over again. I am losing it, time is running out, I am getting old with each passing day and that scares the shit out of me.

I have made some lousy decisions in life. I started this blog ten years ago when blogging was still in it its infancy but was never regular. My younger daughter had just been born when I started this journey that I thought I’d nurture and take to new heights….. Now my son is the same age and ten years have gone by in between.

Whatever I am doing in life now does not even come close to what I thought I would achieve in these ten years. It is nothing as compared to what I could do. And it mocks all the dreams I dreamt for myself while staring out of that window in my living room. 

I was going to be a great writer. My pieces were to get published in literary magazines. I was going to master the art of writing.

And yet, ten years passed and I am still here. Still at the cross roads, never launched. What happened? Where did time—that culprit— vanish? Why did I waste it so willingly? 

These are the questions I may never find answers to, yet the only questions I’d want answered.

In a systematic manner, I brought this on myself. Yes, I do realise my mistake. I thought I had time; that I could do it tomorrow. Little did I know, then, that that perfect tomorrow would never come. 

If I really wanted to do something, I should’ve started right when it came to mind. When I had decided that I was going to be a writer. I did have the time, I do have time even now, but a sad, unproductive decade lies between the dreams when they were first dreamt and now that they have to be woken up again. 

These dreams are now frail, unsure of their strength of ever coming true. They are still there, yes, very much alive, but they’ve grown old, tired and weary. They’ve got unsure of themselves. And it is quite the task now to start from where I left.

Time will not wait for anyone, as clichéd as it may sound. This is one reality that I am aware of but have failed to understand in its entirety, no matter how much I tried. I live day in and day out thinking I’d do it tomorrow. I’d write that blog post tomorrow, I’d update that Instagram account tomorrow. I’d just sleep in today and then tomorrow will be a brand new day.

One just doesn’t realise the absurdity of time until it’s too late. And yes, age sneaks up on you when you’re least expecting it. It has this weird way of catching you off guard. And you just do not understand what really happened. 

There’s no way of understanding, you just realise one fine day that you’re getting old, and that the time to act is now. Or you’ve lost it forever.

But I do realise that I do not want to imagine myself writing another blog post like this in another ten years. I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror and tell myself that I did my best. And that is all one can do. Everything else is just life as it  happens… but you should be able to die with the knowledge that you did do your best.

So here I am, trying to wake up the dreams that were never realised, to muster up the little strength that’s still left, to reignite the passion that is now tired, and to believe in the power of love again.

 

Featured Image courtesy: HERB

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Pretense

That one word to end the meanings of all words; words that do not stand a chance in front of the façade this one word entails. Every truth, all ingenuity, all graciousness is useless when faced with the intricate web of all the shiny mendacities this word so effortlessly weaves.

Such is the cruelty of this one word. Such is the power of it upon the lives of people all around us. Such is its significance for us. Ingenuity is a lost attribute now— or as far as I can perceive (and my perception is just that; perception). It is gone, buried and done away with. No one wants anything to do with it anymore. Why bother listening to the heart when I can follow the herd. Why bother being who I am when I can be someone else. Why be myself when I can be a third rate replica of someone more prosperous/beautiful/thinner/popular out there.

This world has traditionally been easier on the normal (read: ordinary) than the different. Because being different is often tantamount to being a failure; and failure is looked down upon. Failure is a thing to be avoided at all costs. It tends to have the worst of all meanings and it doesn’t matter if you think contrarily. Your opinion simply doesn’t matter. Period. Failures shouldn’t have opinions, because how can they? If the world doesn’t recognize me, how sacrilegious it is of me to acknowledge myself! How dare I think more of myself than what ‘they’ think of me!

I find myself surrounded by pretense. Those who effortlessly adapt to this philosophy, find that they’re better off in this world. Though whether or not it’s happiness that they experience or merely the satisfaction of conformity, I can’t say.

Eventually I will succumb to the pressures of conformity as well.
It is inevitable.
The pressures are too forceful. It is very persuasive. It has survived for centuries.
Or maybe I won’t and hence will just get old… very cranky and very unhappy.
It is all just a matter of time.
But time has never really been on my side.
And I walk alone.

Introvert (Not?)

For as long as I can recall, my mind has been convincing me of my inability to mingle with my peers. I am not known as a warm person, rather an emotionally distant being of sorts. I do happen to be acquainted with a lot of people, few of which I even have had the courage to call my friends. But apart from that very negligible faction, my life has mostly been surrounded by solitude. I prefer to be alone if I can. I draw my energy to go on in this life, by spending time with my own self. You might say it sounds “shady”, for the lack of a better word, and you might be quite right as well. For my life does revolve around my own existence and the few hours I get to allocate to myself happen to be my sanctuary. Now by that I most definitely do not intend to give the impression that I am a vain person, I might be for all I know. But that is not the impression I intend to convey in this particular post. And it is of utmost significance that you understand this fact.

The whole point of my composing this particular piece was to tackle a strange revelation that dawned upon me today. You see, I attended a bridal shower arranged by one of my dear friends today; and it so happened that I managed to enjoy myself to a great extent over there, as I often do in idle festivities like these. However, as I was going through the events of the evening later today, I suddenly realized that I was feeling particularly chirpy at that very moment because I had the fortunate experience of mingling with my friends just a little while back. I am not a very happy person, if you go by the exact definition of the word. Rather I have become rather grumpy of late; owing to the bizarre circumstances my life has conveniently thrown on my face from time to time. This particular evening though, it suddenly became clear to me that the only occasions I find myself in my element are predominantly the ones that involve the presence of my friends!!

Now imagine that you have spent three decades of your life believing yourself to be an introverted creature, shunning away from the society thinking it is not what you need and eventually getting all the more depressed. Essentially it is a loop that you find yourself tangled in since you just can’t comprehend what you’re doing wrong. You think you don’t like people and you’re avoiding them like plague but you still do not feel happy even after you have practically avoided the whole fraternity your life has forced upon you. You feel trapped. And then one fine evening, your whole make-believe world comes crashing down upon this unexpected realization that what you had always believed to be true was anything but. You need to build a new world now around a new thought that you had always thought to be archaic. That is the exact situation I am finding myself in at this moment and don’t know how to tackle it for it does seem like a rather scary concept to entertain.

I’m sorry if these five hundred words did not make much sense to you, I myself am having trouble figuring out the precise purpose of this post. But something as ludicrous as this is bound to happen when a whole life theory gets altered in one day.

Trust me, I will never feel the same again. I might feel bouncier now that I think I know the cause of the never-ending melancholy state of my mind; though even that can be a bit pressurizing for a sensitive soul like myself. I might get more depressed thinking that I shouldn’t be depressed knowing that I think that I know the secret of my being.

I think I should go sleep now.

Good to write after such a long time though. I think it’d be lovely if I were a regular here.

Life

Love. Hope. Dream. All alive. All scattered. All significant enough not to be significant. You tend to start thinking about it only to realise there was never any promise for anything great. This was going to be torture. Slow and painful. Only to be ridiculed by death in your face for taking it all so seriously, for daring to dream. All of this and you hadn’t even signed up for it, in the first place. 

They tell me human existence is worth it.

However I do wonder if this statement has got any truth in it. Or perhaps it was said only to further ridicule our very existence? Perhaps. But we’ll never know, will we?