8 Mar

I’ve been craving to sit down with my laptop ever since my workday ended yesterday, just so I could write. It’s been a rather hectic week and I don’t see it getting any better any time soon. It’s good in a way because it’s been so busy that there’s been no time to breathe, or have lunch, as it were. Clearly, I hold breathing and eating at the same level of importance. Some things will never really change. I got back home to have my lunch of maggi in the evening; not that that makes me happy or that skipping lunch does, but it’s been a while since I’ve had an alternate escape plan. Being too busy to breathe or eat lunch is quite the escape route. I’m an escapist. And if given the chance, I’ll run out that door. And so, I’ve been running. Yes, clearly my education (I’m a counseling psychologist by education) hasn’t or isn’t being used to its best. Come what may, the fact that there’s an escape route/option always thrills me.

Cutting the long story short, I came back home to find that my laptop was out of charge and that the charger I had wasn’t working. I just figured that my brother’s laptop charger thankfully works, and so here I am. I’m also most thrilled. The withdrawals were getting to me. And so I’ll move on to the post I really came here to write. Thank you for listening to my sob story so far. Moving on…

Disclaimer: I foresee an infinite use of the word I, because I will be referencing and voicing my views about my self and my thoughts. If the thought of it is unbearable, I don’t/won’t blame you. Thank you.

My laptop screen is dusty having been here on my desk for a grand total of just a few hours. While I feel compelled to go get a wipe and clean it, I’m staying put because I really want to sit here right now and write. My hair is oily and sticky and I’m awaiting that languorous bath though I wish I really didn’t have to. I feel most ungroomed (?) and I’m going to regret not going to the salon sooner. The pain is such a bitch. But here I am. I’m not very happy or at peace or at liberty. But I’m here on this, sort of lazy, Saturday afternoon with no agenda in mind, in my boxers that are really actually meant for men, contemplating what to make for lunch. Will I have a book for lunch or a snack that’s not meant to see its time so soon? Will I sleep with a nap or will I waltz with a walk, that’s just for the lazy clouds, sun and trees to tell me. But I’m here. By the way, these men’s boxers are just the best thing to ever have. Ever. Best home wear.

I’ve never kept track of days. I never know when it’s what international day. I never know when to treat my mom right or when to say my daddy strongest or that HIV sucks or that AIDS is rotten or that good health is a must or that peace is supposed to start from within or that the earth is what you owe your everything to. I never really know and I doubt I’ll ever know. I don’t know what it’s like to be a woman or a man or a tree or a pet. I don’t know and therefore I can’t say. I can’t say you’re supposed to be this way or that. I do belong somewhere, but I haven’t figured out where. I know nothing except what it is to be me or an individual living in the generation that she is from and in (there’s a difference, all of a sudden, but I saw it coming) given all the variables that life generally ladles out to every single person and being that exists, and chooses to live, consequently.

I don’t know anything else or what it feels like to be anyone else because I’ve never really been anyone/anything else. I do know what I am, I do know a little bit of the tip of the iceberg that I’m made up of. And I believe I’m one of those people who gets on every single bandwagon pretty much after everyone else is two bandwagons away. I’m sure of it. It’s no wonder I feel like I’m living my teenage years now. I certainly feel like it. I’m not fighting it. I guess it’s a bandwagon I have to travel on before I move forward. It’s not a sad excuse, but a realization that some of us really do blossom way after so many flowers have already bloomed once, if not more.

I cannot think of any other reason why there is so much rebellion, so much angst and so much conflict. I cannot think of why the ways of society are (supposedly) absolute or why we have to behave and act in a certain way. I’ve just begun discovering what it means to enter the conflict zone, of doing what I’m supposed to do versus what I would ideally like to do and what having to choose between the two makes you feel like. It happens when you’re that latecomer. It happens when you’ve been blindly following the path that “has been etched out for you”. It happens when you concede, blindly. It happens when you read without understanding.

I believe in science, in biology, in logic, in that things need to happen at a particular time for one to proceed forward. I don’t believe that skipping steps to getting somewhere, helps. Therefore, I do know that there’s a time and place for everything. That you ought to do certain things at certain times not because someone said so but because there’s that something in us that needs us to. Some of us call it time, some call it the bio clock while some call it maturity. There’s always a time. And if I were to look back, there’s so much I ought to have done, which I haven’t.

Therefore it isn’t strange that I don’t know what each day stands for, in an international celebratory context. I cannot connect those dots. Here’s a tiny little me, living her life, trying to figure out what now, next and so on. It doesn’t matter what I’m “supposed” to do or be like because I’m still trying to figure how I’d like to be for myself; that I’d be satisfied with the person I see when I look into a mirror; a person whose eyes speak of things she loves being a part of. This really isn’t even about rebellion as much as it is about exploration. I’m on that journey. It’s always about that journey. It’s always about what you see when you’re on the journey and what you let become a part of you. Every single day holds the promise of discovery. And that’s what’s heartening because I’m here, doing what I have to do because my mind, body and soul need me to. There are no flat lines, just jagged reminders that we’re so alive.

To live is the chance we’ve been given. To be alive is that choice we make, that journey we decide to take. To move on is to know there’s nothing left behind, that there really is no looking back.  And I speak for myself when I say, that I’m almost always trying, if not hard. I’m running, even if I’m two bandwagons behind.



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