It is strange how one tends to change over time. You think you have a grip over your life and you have your boundaries set. You know what you can do and you are extra sure what you cannot do. People around kinda help you know what you cannot do. That reassurance drives some people and pulls some people down from the misery they like to call life.
I do not know what kind I am. There are days I feel the naysayers drive me and some days I want to prove them right to the T. The problem is I am not aware if I can be that one person for a long time, even if I choose to be. My choice like everything else also changes.
Stories keep me alive. The ones they show in movies and TV, the ones they print in books and elsewhere and the ones you see in your life if you are lucky. I love the spark they ignite in me. It is momentary but At that moment I live life to its fullest. All other time I am only hoping such a spark is waiting in the corner ready to envelop me in its entirety.
I want this to read like poetry. I want to be liked for the message this post reads. And, yet I do not know if poetry can this be this wayward in its progress. Can it be this aimless and also can it be so self-aware to the extent of breaking the character in every second sentence?
Intoxication empowers me. Now that's a funny word. Well, I have not tried writing after drinking. I just erased the words because I couldn't use words to convey what I am feeling right now. This feeling to sound right and look in a particular way is what kills me. And yet that is what I always do. Every day. From the moment I open my eyes till the moment I kiss goodbye to the staying awake.
I hate re-reading my own passages but I can't do it. This is apparently an American usage of words. Can't do it. I must have picked it up because of my obsession with US culture through their movies and TV series. I accidentally erased half of the post but thanks to control Z I have it back. I just used a key on the keyboard to correct the grammar and spelling. How easy it is today to write and yet how difficult it is to convey what one feels.
Let me harp on that last point. It's a pet peeve of mine. Isn't it strange that we have so many contacts on the phone, and yet we never seem to be in 'contact' with any of them? While we see everyone posting stories on their social media accounts we never really get to know the real story. I love to put up a facade. I guess all of us do. Don't we?
I re-read a few lines of the last passage. I was self-correcting. Then I stopped. If we always correct ourselves aren't we losing the chance to be ourselves? Who are we course correcting for? For the ones sitting behind their phones or the ones who do not care of your existence.
Is there a coherent theme to the post or is it just rambling all the way? Rambling isn't bad. I know the world think it is bad. We ought to make sense. And if that is not true we need to not make sense. It is either this way or the other way. We cannot be fluid, can we? At one moment I want to ramble and the other I want to be focused. But I want to keep shuffling. Why do I have to choose sides and stick to them?
I guess I am lonely. I have a great family and a few good friends. And, yet I yearn for a life where I always feel connected. And yet when I do have the opportunity I kill it with my bare hands. I am self sabotaging that way. Am I making sense? Well, that is such a stupid sentence to even say. Isn't it? Why will I be making sense when I have not slept for the entire night? Wait do I have to wake up now?r