There was a time before when I felt disdain for a lot of
people. I probably wanted to try and incorporate a lot of ideals into people.
The ones I lacked, they didn't matter. The ones I had, mattered and if you
didn't have them, I would probably judge you. And probably still do. Being vain
and quixotic at the same time is hardly a good combination.
It's funny how suddenly one day, after a brief spell of
something you never were, you realize that you will always be yourself. It may
have been a hiatus of a few months or a few years. We ride along and we get lost
in our ways, but we're fooling nobody in the end. The inner me, the real me,
was here all along. Probably lurking back, smirking, letting me believe that I
had gotten away. That I'd morphed into this fantastic being, doing all the
right things, going up the ladder real quick, emanating charm and deserving
unwarranted praise. People helped along the way, applauding you for all the
things that didn't matter. You got lulled, and not just that, you wanted to get
lulled into being a everybody-pleasing-bitch. No more discussions in your head
about what you were really doing. The sense of insecurity was gone, and
suddenly everybody was smiling.
It was great while it lasted.
Sure, there were times you couldn't even look into the
mirror. There were times you didn't even have to courage to say your own name
out loud in the dark - it was almost sinful. But then there was blinding light,
and all the adulation, and all the praise, and they were all fawning over you.
It should have troubled you back then - what really were they doing? And why?
Perhaps you had actually stumbled upon the secret to life, and they couldn't
stop admiring you? Or maybe they wanted you to believe in them all along, and
trust their smiles to make you feel accomplished. Whatever it was, it worked. I
believed in them, and so did you. We're not that dissimilar, you and I. Maybe
I'm the bigger fool, and maybe the word 'maybe' was just put in to not make me
feel too bad. But it really shouldn't harm you pride, I would have the bigger
fall to go with it. The long, hurtling ride down to nothing one fine night when
I would realize that it had all been for naught. I'd almost made it to
three-fourths of the chart being happy, and it makes me glad that it tipped
over before it went further. I'll be 25 this year, I may still be able to
salvage something out of this. But what about those who have gone through this
their entire lives? All the Peter Keatings working fervently to fulfill dreams
they never had, forgetting in the process that it was meant to be for their
personal joy before anything else? When did we become such others-pleasing
people that we forgot who and what we wanted to become? They came and applauded
when we stumbled down alternate paths, and soon the pleasant cacophony was all
we could hear.
So I got the jolt one fine night, while watching a movie and
thinking about how I'll never finish reading a particular novel. It has been a
stumbling journey, the past few years collectively crashing in on me, making me
wonder what the fuck I have been doing. I don't need them to tell me what I'm
going to do or what I'm going to become, and neither do I need their applause.
I'll know when I'll have reached there, and I'm sure you'll know too, and we'll
drink to that then. Till then, I can at least try doing something I want. I've
floated in the limbo of their fake adulation for too long.
I haven't written anything for many years now. I can't even
be bothered to read back on what I have written, because that'll be too much
crap for one night.
