Untitled, But Honest

sometimes there’s no good reason to write. you might be doom-scrolling and the very next moment you open your notes to simply write down, “Babumoshai, zindagi badi honi chahiye, lambi nahin.” never really understood this dialogue but now when I look into it, I probably get it. I may not have lived enough (of course), but one thing I can say for sure is, I have truly lived.

I have always been optimistic about life and situations. Sometimes it leaves me thinking if this is just a coping mechanism. well, maybe it is or maybe it is not. Until and unless it doesn’t mess with my head, I am good, I believe. I don’t understand if it’s me trying to find pleasure in the midst of suffering. I don’t understand if there is any right method or what that “right” even looks like, who defines it, and how it comes into the picture. do I romanticize my suffering because my self-proclaimed intellectual self thinks this is pleasure? is it giving me a false sense of power? the power to understand and rationalize how you feel, as if you are able to make sense of things. Does that make you better than anyone else, or is it just a narcissistic trait? where does it take me? how does it even make me different? but still, find solitude in your lost self, in your suffering. where do you stand? where is the line between narcissism and self-abandonment?

survival itself is a valid reason for existence. does that make any coping mechanism bad? because at the end of the day that’s how you think you can survive with whatever happened. at the end of the day, all we are trying to do is survive and take the best of what we can.

when standing on the thin edge of self-awareness, you are scared the reflection might lead to self-dissolution. will asking too many questions help me understand myself, or will it entangle me with threads that I don’t even know exist? where will it lead me? is it even worth risking?

how contradictory of me to say I have always been optimistic about my life situations and yet ask if it’s worth risking? who am I kidding? I don’t understand, I truly don’t. it scares me to even be in a position where I am not able to make sense, as if I am losing my control and power over my life. and I understand it’s not supposed to be control, because how is one supposed to do so? This false sense of power is not going to take me anywhere, yet it provides me with a fragile sense of security and an illusory sense of being smart. at the end, I know I am stupid. stupid for getting entangled with this deceptive sense of authority and yet doing nothing about it because my narcissism finds pleasure in it. It makes me no better.

I try to leave traces of hope and optimism in my writing, but this one refused, it came out as rage and longing. I understand I am not the only person who feels so or felt so. I am just going to hit 20 soon, and what I know and understand might change with time, with experiences, and with learning. Maybe there will be a time I will look back at this writing, maybe cringe a little bit, and finally understand how this was needed for me to be where I wanted to be. hey, older self, if you are reading this, I am cool, I hope you are too. never ever stop writing though. wait, have you been writing songs too? I hope you do. and also, I would like you to reflect on this and write how you feel about it whenever you are reading (make sure you are at least 24 by now).