The Last One.

“Spend these three years carefully; you’ll see each day flashing in front of your eyes at the end of these three years.”

I was given this advice when I started college. I am not proud of how well I have followed it.

I had my list of dreams and a bucket list tucked in a suitcase, but I am afraid that I left most of them in there. I abstained myself: I was too scared to do everything I wanted. 

The regret of not getting into my dream college bugged me so much that I failed to live. I am not satisfied with myself, and I am not going to make it appear otherwise. Yes, this is not a sequel pretentious optimistic post and the reader has been warned.This post is my heart crying out. 

I decided in Class 4 that I wanted to become a writer. And I henceforth decided that I wanted to be an entrepreneur. But I had enough excuses to stop myself from doing anything at all that would bring me closer to any of my goals. Not enough time, no good phone, “what if they hate me?”, exams this month, this isn’t good enough an idea, no vehicle, not enough finances, no laptop, now that I have a laptop I don’t have good internet, I’m completely useless, and the list goes on.

One thing I’ve realized is that there is no end to excuses. Period.

The only reason I am not what I wanted to be is that I have not tried. Today is the first day of the rest of my life!

After tens of unfinished drafts, a couple of hours of cyber stalking, and several cups of tea, I am closing this blog. It was started with a lot of people-pleasing and people-appeasing emotions which never allowed me to write what I really wanted. Every line I ever wrote was rewrote with the people centric thought: would they like it? This blog has never been me.

If there’s one thing I’ve realized, it is that trying to appease a few people usually provokes others in ways I’d never thought possible. That, coupled with the fear of failing, has made me abstain myself. 

But no more. :)

A big thank you to all those who have followed me! I shall be back better and finer.

Au revoir!

Bonus: This Switchfoot song. (I am not going to describe it, you just gotta listen to it.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B5Gvdgs_R1c

The Return Journey

There are some tasks which become easy with practice and persistence, like chopping vegetables, jogging a mile, solving algebraic equations. And there are others which never become easier irrespective of the number of times we do them. The top most on that list is leaving home to go back to your hostel .

Until this summer, I'd never come back home for more than a few days from the hostel due to academic commitments. But this is the first opportunity wherein I got to spend a long vacation here.

If the journeys back to hostel were difficult before this one, it's turned impossible this time.

Do you know that heart-wrenching feeling, when your throat is dry and you want to cry, but you're too 'grown-up' for that, and it's a bad thing because all this wanting to cry stays inside you and makes your chest heavy! And I swear that I'm not exaggerating even a tad.

It's a stupid reason to cry: that you're going to follow your dreams, to grow up and learn things. There's not enough justification for the tears and hence they don't come out.

Consider this: it's winter and you enter the warm shower. Stay there for 2 minutes and it's difficult to exit. You leave the shower, nevertheless, because you have to go to work, college, etc.  Now imagine that you have some time and you decide to indulge yourself to a warm bath. You sit in the tub with lots of foam and a book and maybe some music and relax for a couple of hours, and you suddenly realize that it's time to go somewhere out (in the cold) and you gotta leave the warm comfort behind you. That's how I feel after this long holiday home.

Don't get it wrong, the hostel is not bad. The people are pretty good too. And I give good business to telecoms operators each day. But it's just not the same.

There's no pampering back at hostel. It's just not like home: where I am showered with hugs and kisses all the time, I get fed well before I feel hungry, it becomes my fundamental right to sleep beside Mom each night (leaving Dad to settle somewhere else) , where I am the center of their universe and everything I love to eat is stocked. I am Mom's designated driver, trolley pusher, errands person, kitchen help, shopping assistant. Mom is the guinea pig for my recipes and she cruelly snatches away the cup of tea and hands me a mug of milk, "Tare calcium levu joiye, chai ma na hoi kai nutrients, growing age che!". (You need calcium in this growing age, don't drink tea, it doesn't have any nutritients)  I've to claim that I'm full at two rotis, if I want 4 . She stuffs me with the mangoes I heartily dislike because she likes them. And Papa calls me every evening to ask if I want anything from the market. Every evening.

There is no end to the list, and no saturation point to accept and give all the love.

I'll have to pack my bags in a couple of days, but I'm not done yet. I am not done being pampered, I've not yet gone for enough dinners and drives with my Sister and my brother-in-law (check out my previous post), Mom thinks I still haven't piled on enough fats to help me survive at hostel and I still haven't gotten around to making Dad buy himself some new shirts.

As Nazim Ali so aptly states,

"Ek muddat baad mili qed se aazadi.....
Par jab mili aazadi, To pinjre se pyar ho gaya......"