Monday, February 21, 2011

quam minimum credula postero

I can't help but stop in my tracks once or twice a day when I'm reminded of how much I have changed in the last five years. At 20, I was pretty certain that life will be fabulous. At 25, I'm tired of everything and really don't see where life's going. I'm now more aware of my smallness than ever. I still feel more special than most people I know, but that could just as well be early-onset arrogance as the self-awareness of my greatness. I catch my reflection in the dimmed out screen of my phone and see age and worry. Ten years ago, if someone told me that I'd be friendless and frumpy at 25, I'd have smiled quietly at their absolute lack of understanding of a fairly lively teenager.

Ah, 2001. I had just succeeded at my first big public exam. Entered the world of salwar-suits. Started wearing my hair in a single plait. Got new wheels to zip around my small town on. Drifted away from some good old friends, got some interesting new ones. Dad moved to the big city in the name of upward mobility, and then I joined him in the name of academic advancement. Lost some more friends, but it didn't matter. Because, those were tumultuous but happy times. Hopeful times. I've lost the habit of dreaming incredibly, insanely big like I did when I was a girl. My parents' very unrealistic expectations of me added to the frenzy. They still refuse to see their daughter as one of the millions of people being worn down by life one day at a time.

Yeah, I know, this is all very bleak. But, I can't come to grips with how boring and inconsequential everything I do is. I love my work; it's not my work. But, work was never meant to replace everything else. I wanted a life full of excitement and constantly find myself incapable of being excited by anything. Or anyone. I can't make friends anymore. Or even make friendly small talk. It tires and infuriates me. I resist the urge to pick fights with some 'friends' on facebook everyday. Their ill-informed opinions on a variety of non-issues irk me. Surely, they can't mean what they say and be my friends. How do I even know these people? I can't remember half the time, so I wake up one day and scythe my friends list in half. Feels almost like emptying out precious closet space for new interesting virtual people. And then there are dear friends that I loved and never learned to judge. Can't get myself to call them for months at a time, because I have nothing to say. The distances then simply grow and swallow the time we shared. Much or all is forgotten.


Life labors on and the past melts into nothingness.