"..The day you will realise, is the day when you will know that it is already too late... "
Its a hot sultry day and the rickety old bus slackens to a halt, metres ahead of the solitary post which used to be a part of the bus stop. A dusty hot wind blows into my face as I get down. Its a gravel road and one has to be careful while gettin down. The bus had already showered a dust cloud over my head and has now reduced to a moving object constantly pursued by dust cloud. I begin to walk my way home crossing the guitarist by the music shop.
These words ring in my ear as I look at him strumming the guitar. He is not really good, but he tries,conscientiously.
At the threshold of completing a quarter-life, I wonder if I could play it. I have always been an escapist, jumping roads without really walking and crossing the milestones on those roads. The reason being, I do want to get associated but I fail to focus myself, to dedicate myself to a particular goal. Sports, Music, Painting, I have had it all but I don't really have anything. All I had was that neat bunch of yellow certificates which are still lying in the corner of the room waiting for some moth to start eating it. This is what I am now, a jack of many trades. A perfect novice.
My father had told this to me on of our rare one-to-one conversations. I believe, I was on another whim, another desire, another dream. Surprisingly, he had all attention on the regular blabber. A chaotic exchange of ideas and advices. A tumultuous memory ride on my track records; of how I had engaged on one activity and abandoned it in between. Now, I break into a cold sweat as it seems that it was only yesterday. The sheer truthfullness of it, my realisation and my submission to those very words make me feel tired. I walk the last few metres with sagging shoulders.
I open the door and see that the dishes have been cleaned and set on the table. The food is ready and all I have to do is change my dirt ridden clothes and settle for the drier ones in my cupboard. They say that a volcano erupts in every man's life and then things change. I am still waiting for mine. But somehow being myself, I seem to have accepted my fate; submitted to what life has to offer me. A total escapist.
I guess, this is where it started and this is where it will end. A meticulous cobweb of here and there and this and that. Here I am and this is me.
Its a hot sultry day and the rickety old bus slackens to a halt, metres ahead of the solitary post which used to be a part of the bus stop. A dusty hot wind blows into my face as I get down. Its a gravel road and one has to be careful while gettin down. The bus had already showered a dust cloud over my head and has now reduced to a moving object constantly pursued by dust cloud. I begin to walk my way home crossing the guitarist by the music shop.
These words ring in my ear as I look at him strumming the guitar. He is not really good, but he tries,conscientiously.
At the threshold of completing a quarter-life, I wonder if I could play it. I have always been an escapist, jumping roads without really walking and crossing the milestones on those roads. The reason being, I do want to get associated but I fail to focus myself, to dedicate myself to a particular goal. Sports, Music, Painting, I have had it all but I don't really have anything. All I had was that neat bunch of yellow certificates which are still lying in the corner of the room waiting for some moth to start eating it. This is what I am now, a jack of many trades. A perfect novice.
My father had told this to me on of our rare one-to-one conversations. I believe, I was on another whim, another desire, another dream. Surprisingly, he had all attention on the regular blabber. A chaotic exchange of ideas and advices. A tumultuous memory ride on my track records; of how I had engaged on one activity and abandoned it in between. Now, I break into a cold sweat as it seems that it was only yesterday. The sheer truthfullness of it, my realisation and my submission to those very words make me feel tired. I walk the last few metres with sagging shoulders.
I open the door and see that the dishes have been cleaned and set on the table. The food is ready and all I have to do is change my dirt ridden clothes and settle for the drier ones in my cupboard. They say that a volcano erupts in every man's life and then things change. I am still waiting for mine. But somehow being myself, I seem to have accepted my fate; submitted to what life has to offer me. A total escapist.
I guess, this is where it started and this is where it will end. A meticulous cobweb of here and there and this and that. Here I am and this is me.
I hate the fact that am heading towards quarter life crisis, don even lik birthdays anymore too. But the only thing that makes us different is that we realize it. Most dont. I am waiting for 'my volcano' too, but till then i will continue being escapist. Loved this post, could relate to it soo much!!!
ReplyDelete