15 June, 2017
It’s 11.43 a.m. and my mind is doing a run through of the crazies. Here I am, all 23 years of me, finally a graduate, no more college classes to be late to, no more stinky shirts to re-wear inside out, no more laid back semester breaks, all that’s left is a socially awkward and confused me, a lot of painful, possibly forever goodbyes, misgivings about the job I’m about to take up, a lot of pressure from mother goose to settle down with Mr dashing and handsome, and the big gaping hole that my future is. I feel like I’m a contestant on fear factor who’s centre stage all the time, all the monsters under my bed smirking at me and I’m stuck between getting my shit together and fucking things up more.
Trying to come to terms with all these things snowballing towards me all at once is turning out to be a herculean task. Little me, worrying about that test, about random weekday getaways and rushing off to snag that last piece of gooey rum balls from my favourite bakery, keeping the rat out of the room..I remember me having soul crushing debates, arguments and getting frustrated about such mundane things like it was yesterday… Oh wait…it was yesterday (-_-)
What exactly am I supposed to do right now? Go to a new city or stay close to the familiar? Higher studies or slog and study for one of the dozens of exams for those much coveted cushy jobs? Get an apartment? Use my newfound financial independence to spend or save? Start looking for a prince charming on matrimonial sites like a good little girl or look around for one or not marry at all? Sleep with my boyfriend or remain a virgin forever? Go pub hopping on Fridays or stay sober? Decisions, decisions and more decisions, they’re hurtling towards me, the girl who can’t even pick a soup off the menu.
So I do what I normally do, I avoid dealing with it and grab a huge piece of overly sweetened mood uplifting pie and skim through my pile of favorite reads but some weird feeling pull me to the dustier part of the book shelf, the one filled with history, financial jargon, self help books and the lot and since none of these really tickle my not so happy moody self, I go for poetry and settle down with it and I end up with Frost …
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth
It was one of those moments when in some weirdly fucked up way the universe was giving me a sign and I chose that moment to be accepting of other-worldly powers that were reaching out to me and trying to tell me something. I, was that traveller, standing there like an ass, not knowing what to do or where to go and instead of two paths there were like a gazillion more.
Some of them look so comfortable, ones that seem like a walk in the park, a career which would support me financially and help me climb the corporate ladder, a suitable groom who’s settled abroad, a lovely two storeyed house, angelic children, dinner parties and the rest, but, what one forgets is that it involves a lot of boss-ass-kissing, unrewarding hours, love being stuffed down your throat whether you like it or not, unfulfilled dreams and an unhappy you. The universe speaks out to me in a Trelawney-esque voice, full of foreboding, “ my dear, walk away from the strong pull of the big Indian dream, wander, find your own, let your dreams belong to you…”.
I see the ones left over, the dark ones filled with predictions of gloom and doom, a lot of sweat and toil and setbacks, full of disapproving glances from parents, friends, relatives, even your local kiranawala, basically any random guy in society, a lot failures, tombstones of days and months of hard work gone awry , it’s a path of struggle and strife, but then in all that darkness there’s the light at the end of the tunnel, lit up by little glowy fireflies, reminders of childhood dreams, dreams of a room made of books, shelves with no end to them, books stacked one on top of another, little bundles of joy sitting around me, enraptured by the stories I have to tell them, dreams of a typewriter worn out but happily taka-taka-ing away, words pouring out of them, words that make you smile, laugh, cry, one at a time or all at once, words lovingly written with a favourite pen by ink stained fingers , dreams of wearily walking across unknown valleys, putting down a backpack filled to the brim with knickknacks from along the way, bending down to drink some refreshing water from the brook, breathing in the air of the yet unexplored country, excited about the unknown, nostalgic about the places you left behind, dreams of making a home and not just a house, filled with love and laughter and tiny chubby babes. I am suddenly filled with courage, courage the likes of America and Samurai Jack.
For those dreams alone, I shall walk this path, scary and full of monsters, with hopes and whims and fancies and also try not to get fucked up mentally along this road not taken, strolling by fields of stupidity, ghosts of mistakes, small peaks of achievements, sloughs of despair to reach pastures of joy, jumping and shouting profanities all along, only to repeat it all over again reminding myself to strive for happiness, settle for nothing lesser than the utmost happiness.
And along my way I will not change who I am, I’ll still be my silly annoying self ,I needn’t fit into filling the cliché cupcake mould, I’m gonna make my own mould, colourful, bold, crazy. Maybe it’ll be half baked, maybe I’ll mostly be baking a batch of those sad deformed cupcakes or the hard as rock ones but that’s okay, I’ll just make a whole new batch all over again.
So back the fuck off universe, I’m going to storm in and bake myself a few cupcakes!!
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less travelled by,
And that made all the difference
-a commandment for life by Robert Frost.