Friday, March 22, 2013

Khattamshud.

There are two ways to break it off with someone. The first is less theatrical - you just leave; you either stop caring or you have an amazing capability to pretend not to and you don't actually say goodbye because well, for you, saying it means having to feel it. The second is my way - saying goodbye constantly, jarring tears every single time. Exchange of words, fights, meaningless peccavi, bidding farewell constantly all the bloody time because you just cannot believe that you've said goodbye. The irony is that this post is immediately after I write about a boy who made me realize that I was capable of the saying goodbye only in the dramatic, immensely theatrical way. 

But this isn't about a person. This is about my blog. 

Two and a half rooms away, there's a birthday party. One of those midnight things we do in the hostel. Possibly the last. We have less than a month to part ways and I'm missing it because I am either playing the "on an impulse" card or the "I've thought it through" card about my blog. Let's face it, the blog has seen it all. I started blogging at sixteen, and created this one when I was nineteen, on a mission "to find happiness within myself". Heaven knows nothing of that sort has ever happened. 

And things have become significantly worse since the last year. There is absolutely no point thinking about the hows whys and whats because they are rhetorical questions. Noone will be able to answer those for me. Last year I discovered poetry in a completely new way. Last year I also discovered that the deep angst I have all the time cannot be described as "teenage angst" anymore: that waxes and wanes throughout teenage and goes away as soon you enter the real world. But the thing is I don't want to enter the real world. It's not a matter of fear - I'm not scared of its hustle-bustle. I just do not feel the need to succumb to it, even when everything around me is falling apart, crumbling to dust. Even now, I want to stand my ground: never entering the real world. But the Peter Pan syndrome comes with a price. And the price is slipping out of a cloak that you thought was your destiny, your fate, your calling. The price is a lifetime of angst. While others are wrapping themselves up in what they consider 'good news', I will, as usual, wrap myself in angst. 

Three people have told me in the past hour that everything that happens, happens for a reason. This is a mechanism that people resort to when they see a person crying, grieving, hurting; something that has been passed down through generations - a classic Pavlovian conditional response. But we all can see that some things just happen randomly without any consequence or outcome; there is obviously no reason for them happening. The universe is allowed to run its course without explaining to anyone why it did what it did. 

Anyhow, I am ranting like an aimless bird. The point of the matter is that I don't see the point of pouring out my sepia on this blogspace any longer. I have no poesy left and the prosaic was never for me. So there is nothing to look forward to anymore. There is nothing to write about. And when there's nothing to look forward to, we look within, we hibernate. 

So I leave today. Not for good. Never, for good. For we always come back to, come back for things/people we love. So long and thanks for all the fish!