Some Questions and Thoughts

What does it take for someone to develop social skills or to cultivate it? How long is too long to use one’s ignorance as an excuse for their actions? These are just some of the questions that have been swirling around in my head ever since I have been capable enough of making friends. I think that is one of the key questions that I have been faced with recently regarding a couple of friends of mine. How does one define space and boundaries in such friendships? How does one draw distinctions and allow only that which can be dealt with within the ambit of that friendship? How can one be a more aware and therefore, more considerate individual?

These are questions that are not only posed with respect to others, they are also questions that are equally posed to me too. I have to furnish answers to all of them, in the same way I expect their recipients (or the images of them that I build in my head) to respond. That puts a lot of emphasis on me, a burden of having to say the “right things,” the satisfactory things, the acceptable things, the sanitised things. But I don’t work with sanitary projections of an idea, I prefer to deal with the raw, the dirty, the scary and to an extent, the uncanny.  No matter how much I want to.

Of course, another part of this expectations pothole that I unwittingly and quite gleefully throw myself into is its intimate connection with all relationships, not just friendships, in my life. There is an expectation that people in your life shall do some things for you, and there are expectations that people would most definitely have about me too. I am expected to be a certain way, to behave a certain way and that means that I am constantly working with these highly complicated and tangled nets where conflicts of interest become common-place. Where there are many things expected and whether I can deliver becomes a question that is deflected for as long as needed to provide me with a semblance of security.

Today, in our creative writing class, we were talking about poetry because starting this week, we shall be focussing on poetry for the rest of the semester. There are so many expectations out of poetry, of what it can set out to say and I am afraid of those expectations because, for me, that signifies a burden, a weight that I feel incompetent to carry. There is an element of the personal that I associate strongly with the poetic form and that indicates a level of vulnerability that I don’t want to put out in the class. Is that selfish of me? Maybe. Is it self-preservance? I don’t really know because I can also reasonably call it escapist. Maybe my fear is that what I consider to be “worthy of being vulnerable about” will be viewed as trivial and immaterial, that I will be “shown my place” in a cruel twist of fate. I say cruel twist of fate because I am extremely critical of myself and generally pull myself down a lot, even when people tell me otherwise. So I am afraid that the one place I feel like my feelings and thoughts are legitimate shall be kicked down as useless and worthless. Well, the second half of the semester is here for me to continue my pondering and well, maybe at least now, something fruitful shall happen?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Worth a Fight?

How do we not let people not screw with our brains? How do we move on and away from people that you have come to realise might never be a huge enough part in your life? It is quite a sticky situation to be in, I presume, because you are nursing a broken heart and at the same time, you are also making a move to completely severe away. That hurts a lot, I have come to realise and pain is something I really cannot deal with properly. I hate pain, I hate feeling pain, I hate it when other people feel pain, it is like I can physically feel the pain myself. It has always been the case with me that I cannot bear the pain of others, especially people I am close to. But more than all of that, I cannot bear my own pain.

This is where I have a curious case–I can’t bear my own pain but at the same time, by some depraved logic, I also believe that my pain is inevitable and that I am a deserving candidate for it. I called it depraved logic because a part of me sees the absurdity of the statement, but it is not strong enough to curb the thought. So I have to content myself with feeling like this, hating that I feel like this but not really being able to control it. That is, unfortunately, the state of affairs, a very unfavourable one but a seemingly inevitable one at that. But more than anything, I think what I wasn’t prepared for was the feeling of utter foolishness when I think back to the times when I actually thought something might be possible.

I cannot believe that I had been naive enough to have done that, it is quite hilariously saddening. All I had needed was a little bit of kindness and niceness and I had fallen headfirst into the puddle. I genuinely only needed niceness and sensitivity from the other person in order to like them. I didn’t even know them that well, I could not have potentially known them that well either–there is literally nothing between us except my own feelings for them. But now, I am in the process of raging against my own stupidity, all in a bid to move on from them. Is it working, I wouldn’t know, but the anger feels quite nice. It means that I am in better spirits, I want to fight once again, so to speak. But the question is, is this even worth a fight?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Writing Worth

I think one of the biggest challenges of writing a blog post every day is finding the motivation to write it as well as examining what happened during the day that could be used for the post. Of course, this is if quite a bit of thought goes into writing a blog post rather than being a plain stream of conscious writing. I tend more towards the latter, I have noticed, especially during times when I have university work to deal with. When I was home during the break, I had a lot of time to allow my thoughts to marinate in my head. Sometimes, I actually felt like what I was writing could be of potential worth and value in the world I was putting it out in. But of course, that is quite a crisis-inducing question to ask.

I ask myself a lot of these questions these days, I cannot help myself sometimes. It is like my brain decided that there are some hard truths I need to be forced to face and that it should be the ones that come to me at the hardest times. The worst part is, I am fully conscious of my brain trying to start the question and it is like I am so depraved that I want that pain, that crisis that will push me to completely lose it. There you go, I have said it. I have started fancying pain and crisis, I have romanticised it enough. This is my brain once again making me realise the hard truths. Who wants to admit that they like to see themselves in pain, to put themselves in pain? Not me for sure, I doubt there are many others who want that.

What does it mean to put something of value out into the world? What does it mean to write anything at all? How am I supposed to know that whatever I am writing, why, take for example, this blog post itself, how am I supposed to know that this post was meant to be written at all? That there is something worthy of being written and read in these words? I am pretty sure that there is going to be at least one person who could read what I am writing and wonder what made me write it in the first place. I wonder that enough about myself that it is not completely foreign for me to put myself in some unknown imaginary reader’s shoes. Well, I guess it is quite moot point right now to wonder, especially when I have already written 430 words. So there I go, wondering again, life has never been this confusing has it?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Growth, Love, and Peace

Today was an important day for me, for my own growth, for my happiness and peace of mind. I managed to clear the air with people, finally made sense of my frustrations, and worked to resolve them. I also managed to find a volunteering job for myself at a local charity shop. I will be working twice a week, 4-hour shifts, and I start coming Friday. Understandably, I am excited to do this work even though I have absolutely no experience of working in a shop. But one thing that had been on my mind was whether this voluntary work would be worth it for me, whether it would add anything of value to me. To be blunt and honest, I was thinking about my resume and whether I needed to find something that would look great on a resume, something that was not ‘worked in a charity shop’.

But what I realised was that I did not care about it as much as I made it out to be. I wanted to volunteer, I wanted to work in that shop, and my CV never featured in my list of primary concerns. It has been my dream to work in the social sector, and any kind of volunteering job is only going to provide me with more experience in the social sector. Moreover, I believe in karma and I like to believe that my volunteering will one day come round to help me when I (hopefully) start my own NGO or organisation, that I will not find it very difficult to find help and/or funds. Yes, selfish motivations are big on this one. But I will say with absolute surety that I am looking forward to volunteering at the shop, regardless of what benefits I could get out of it.

I heard back from one of the internships, their vacancy was apparently filled and so they wanted to know if I would be interested in another position. But I was not very keen on becoming a campus ambassador, after applying for a content writing internship. Moreover, I had not liked their website that much either, so I am not that disappointed. I was definitely not as disappointed and heartbroken as I had been when I got rejected for two other internships I had been really interested in. I am still not keeping my hopes very high for the other internship I applied to. I want to be selected for the internship, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? What you want is not going to happen all the time. But I am not fretting too much because I have something else in my bag that I am genuinely excited about.

The break has been largely lazy for me, it has left me bored and lonely. I miss the times when I could just meet my friends at 12:30am, chat with people round the clock, go for a walk around campus when I feel particularly down. There was something my university that somehow simultaneously robbed me of my comfort but also provided me with it. I had been eager to leave for the holidays, I had missed my family a lot. But now that I am here, I realise that I miss my friends and my university equally. I miss everyone, I want to go back soon, and give them all the biggest hugs I can possibly give. I realise that I cherish these people and their presence, I absolutely love them all. It feels nice, to be filled with love and gratitude, especially after a particularly dry spell. I did tell you I believed in karma now, didn’t I?

And that’s my memory for the day.

The Production is Tomorrow and I’m Exhausted

The production is tomorrow and I am terribly exhausted from the events of the day. I have been in practice for quite a long while and if I have to say one more dialogue, one more time, I will collapse. But I have to, no other choice. I want the production to go well, and I play a rather important part in it. And I have to be on top of my game, speak properly, emote properly or else I will not be doing justice to myself or the people running the show.

I am trying not to fall asleep in the middle of whatever is happening, but I know it is a lost cause. I am extremely tired and just done with everything. But then, I am that way almost everyday so it gets quite normalised. I have lost count of how many days I have been feeling completely tired but ill equipped to deal with it. Even now, I am tired to open my laptop and type this blog post there. It is like a part of me knows that if I open my laptop, I will slowly recline into a lying down position and then, I would slowly close my eyes, my hands typing blindly and then I would be gone. That is not something I am ready to deal with right now. I just have to finish this blog post and go to sleep.

All this exhaustion reminds me of how it used to be back in school. Actually, it doesn’t really, because I had a very chill school life. I slept at 10:30 pm (and what a change has occurred, I sleep now at 2:30am) and woke up at 6:30am, got a solid 8 hours of sleep every night (right now it is a miracle if I get 6 hours) and was on top of my game in school. Right now, I am barely scraping by in my courses, I hope I could turn it all around but I have given up. It feels impossible to believe that I can still turn my fortunes around. Again, my sleeping patterns are not indicative of others around me in school. In fact, most of them were all night owls or early risers who pulled all nighters. They studied so hard that even if their brain stopped, each cell in their body knew the syllabus and would have enabled them to become the topper.

But I never could bring myself to apply myself to my studies with the same passion and commitment. I really did not feel that passionate about whatever I was studying. I didn’t think it was important enough for me to ignore other things. I laid down a bit and I can already feel my eyes drooping and closing. I really want to sleep, and I have worked a lot today. I deserve some good sleep, uninterrupted, beautiful sleep. But it does make me wonder, the fact that I am exhausting myself so much, does it mean I really love what I’m doing and that I think it is worth it?

And that’s my memory for the day.

The Painful Nature of Realisations

Today, as I was speaking to my friends I came to a horrible realisation. It has been especially bothering me since today afternoon and I find myself lost because I don’t know what to make of it. It has somewhat been on the back of my mind, a dark place I never venture much into. Today when I opened that door, just a small amount, just to catch a small peek into what lay inside, I regretted it so much. It has led me into a spiral of something somewhat similar to what I was feeling before. Horribly enough, this time I really don’t have someone near me to help me out of this mess I have conjured up for myself.

Being in a bad headspace, is for me, somewhat like being slightly drunk (I don’t know how being drunk works but I am going by what I have heard from friends who do drink). I know what I am doing, I understand how it could possibly be impacting me but I continue doing it anyways because I am out of control. One difference is probably that being drunk supposedly makes one feel delirious and happily buzzed while this just feels suffocating. It’s like I have a bag over my head and there is but one small hole to let air in but my shaking is blocking that path and I end up suffocating myself, I know it but I don’t understand it. I am full of these big big similes today, aren’t I? Makes me realise how bad I am at anything at all.

I am dumb, I have realised it from the bottom of my heart. I don’t have any knowledge, nor do I have the capability or the open-mindedness to learn. I am painfully mediocre and I am incapable of making myself better. I was speaking to friends and thinking about how significant a person is on this campus. I know some brilliant people, all playing very significant roles in this Ashoka community. What am I doing? Nothing, aside from sitting in my room and moping about my own worthlessness. I don’t even have the skill or the ability to go and make something out of myself.

It all makes me sad, that I exist here in this small bubble I have crafted for myself, all pretty and splitting sunlight into all the colours of the rainbow. But all it needs is one small prick and the bubble pops, I crash down and I cannot even blow a bubble up again. I cannot stand up after my falls, I cannot fight back, I am painfully existing. I am but an insect here on campus, I die with the sunset every day. And I am painfully resurrected every morning, when I have to go out, be happy (or try to be) because the world is a sad place and people need to get some reassurance from those around them. If the people around you aren’t happy, you feel down too. And so, there I go, trying to be happy enough for all of us put together while I confront my demons within the four walls of my room, away from everyone’s eyes. They don’t deserve to see this part of me, they don’t need to burdened with this. So dramatic, aren’t I?

I could vanish from campus right now, just go away into the sunset (albeit not in the romanticised, happy, rainbows and unicorns way) and it wouldn’t make a difference to the people. I could quit from any of the teams I am a part of (which are a lot) and it wouldn’t make a difference to the team. They would still be able to function as usual, I don’t add anything of value to them. Except maybe my presence means that they have one extra pair of hands, but pairs of hands are easy to find in this world. I am replaceable in people’s lives. It is a hard truth to come to terms with and a part of me doesn’t want to do that. People tell that the truth hurts but they never tell you how much it could. I would have been more tolerant of this pain if I had known it was coming. After all, if there’s anything I am good at, it is tolerating pain isn’t it?

And that’s my memory for the day.