Musings

Here I am, wide awake at 2:43 AM, physically present on a bed that’s way too comfy for someone who doesn’t sleep.  Being stuck in an existential crisis at ungodly hours does bring one a certain level of peace though; the rare, stubborn sort that cannot be summoned by any other means. Or so I have come to believe, in the past few weeks. Perhaps this is good old Stockholm’s syndrome messing up my grey matter, perhaps it is actually true, perhaps there is no use questioning the origins of my conclusion. (Side note- damn oxymoron).  I have tried and tried and miserably failed to understand my need to explain the smallest of my actions to even the people who least bother or deserve to know,  and as proof to this statement, I’m going to do exactly the same thing.

This would probably be the first (of many?) times where I’m in such a tranquil state. I’ve set the bar so low for the world and it’s workings around me, and I even feel borderline enlightened. I’ve become so accepting of things around me lately, that even my headache doesn’t bother me. It stays just a bit to the right of the centre of my head, and even that bit of imperfection in its location fails to annoy me. I’m consciously opening up this highway road inside me, directly connecting my heart to my ears, and I feel music pouring down in full speed. I usually keep this road blocked, and let the music roam around till it loses all the feelings associated with it and hits me as just sound. Right now, my barriers are broken, and my guards are dangerously down. Of course, the next minute I feel it coiling up just below my ribcage, squeezing whatever exists there into a tight ball. I merely observe, as I become increasingly uncomfortable. The ball of purposefully forgotten/swallowed feelings wakes up, growing in size every minute. I estimated that it would take another couple minutes before it completely expands to its glory, pushing against my insides. I wouldn’t expect anything less, after all, I’ve been feeding it for five years now.  

It is in this rare state of serenity, that I allow my thoughts to quench their thirst for travel. What is it about people like me (Hopefully, there are a few out there, awake and pressure-cooking their souls) that makes every second of every day complicated beyond what’s considered to be normal? Why do we never feel at ease, we never ‘get a grip’? We have never known what this world calls a solid feeling of just letting things be. We are a hundred-fold more sensitive to every tiny thing we see, smell, taste and feel, and a thousand-fold  better at never showing it out. We could be sipping a cup of coffee in the corner of a canteen, and you’d never be able to guess at the battle that’s been going on since time immemorial, gut-wrenching panic building up in each of our nerves, the valley of broken arrows in the centre of our chests, swallowing atom bombs like candy. Sometimes, the tremors show in the way our nails dig trenches as deep as the devil’s heart into our palms, or in the way we try to force air down our throats which seem to be suddenly overpoweringly clogged with mind-numbing pain. The other times, we’re as placid and fragile as the thinnest sheet of ice which hides a roaring, angry, stone-cold lake filled with dead feelings and shattered memories. What is it about us that has made is look at worse human beings with unrelenting, sheer insensitivity, and at the same time, boil up our insides in a volcano of emotions we didn’t know existed at the smallest of good things happening to the ones we love? What is it that renders it nearly impossible to make it through a movie or a song without every bone in our bodies feeling everything under the sun? Why are we almost always disappointed by the way we are treated, and why do we choose to reciprocate with pure love and affection instead of firing back bullets? Why do we choose to be walked upon? Is it because we know that we’re strong enough to take it? Is it because we absolutely cannot fathom the thought of putting anybody else through even a fraction of what we’ve been through? Why do we feel the need to shield our loved ones and take in every single blow before it hits them, at all costs? Why do our hearts break before we could let theirs take a mere crack? Why do we feel all-consuming euphoria before their smiles reach the corners of their faces?

I could go on with this till my last breath, and I most probably will. Meanwhile, the ball has expanded to tonight’s potential full size and demands my attention to maintain sanity. Perhaps, someone, someday, somewhere will answer some of these questions. Till then, cheers to making the world sustain its belief that I’m a completely normal, optimistic person.