I was browsing through my hard drive today and I found this in one of the folders, so well hidden that you could only find this while using the Windows Explorer. It seems to be written by me, and reminds me of a dark time in my life where I had this urge to write every time something went wrong. The writing style reminds me of myself, but the person writing it seems to be someone totally ‘alien’ to me. I haven’t posted anything in a while and the ‘Anarkali Sarees’ post is half written so I thought I'd share this. The created date on this file is 17 February, 2009. It doesn't seem to have any significance, except that I knew I wasn't feeling like myself. The file is named “Confession” and hence is the title of the post.
There are so many things that I want to write, that I want to describe, I want to share, confide, and yet I can’t seem to find any words to fit and completely do justice to whatever it is that I want to say.
Years and years of stories, feelings, memories, thoughts, dreams, desires are waiting to flow from the top of my head (and the bottom of my heart) onto this paper. But somehow I still seem to be lost for words, for thoughts and maybe even for a beginning apt enough to correctly describe every single emotion that wishes to unleash itself on this piece of paper.
I guess I have to begin somewhere. So without another confusing thought, here I go. I am beginning the description of my innermost thoughts, dreams, desires, feelings, memories coupled with fears, worries, doubts and other innumerable emotions that I’ve experienced in the past twenty two years of my life.
Sometimes I wonder if the likes of me desire to live forever, to live even to see the light of tomorrow, let alone the future years of one’s life. I for one know that I don’t. I don’t even deserve it. But yet, each morning I wake up like everyone else and the day drags on. Each moment that I spend thinking, demands an explanation from me. It needs an answer. It needs to know why I’m still there, living it, breathing still. But I’m as far away from the answer to that as the question itself.
I worry sometimes if something is so drastically wrong with me. What is it that has made me like this? Loads of things as far as I can remember. There is no one single reason that I can blame it upon. And why blame it upon something or someone else when you know that you yourself are greatly responsible for the way you’ve turned out? Circumstances do play a major role in shaping an individual, but doesn’t the manner in which the person approaches the circumstance assume more significance than the circumstance itself?
I remember myself as a fun-loving, warm, friendly, joyful person who lived a carefree life. And yet even though it is I, who used to be that and more, I find it hard to identify with this person who I was and even more so, with what I’ve become. It is as if it is someone totally alien. And the thought itself is disturbing.
My life has turned out and is turning out still to be completely different from (if not exactly the opposite of) what I thought it would be. I can’t remember when was the last time that I’d been happy for a long time. When I was a kid, all I remember was being happy. Does growing up mean giving up most of that and accepting fleeting moments of joy in return? I’d have loved to die as a kid. It seems unfair to show someone extreme happiness and then take most of it away, give it to them piece-meal and expect them to continue living for life to bestow upon them these small fractional mercies which by the way they have to earn, deserve to be able to enjoy it.
Life for me by myself is disturbing and meaningless enough (both adjectives being understatements for what it actually is) and to drag someone else into this mess, knowingly, even if they whole heartedly want to be a part of it is cruel beyond words.
Even then, there is still a part of me that wants to do so much in the course of this meaningless quest called life which has so far taken away from me (or made it look like distant possibilities) most of what I had desired and wanted. I know that there is something known as delayed gratification and maybe in a few years it may be due. But I can’t build up the hopes of my life on maybe and definitely not let someone else’s already built up hopes drown for my sake.