Tick tock goes the clock. That is the only sound I hear as I sit in my living room staring at the fish tank in front of me, desperately trying to write something. I have hidden behind writers block for too long now, I told myself. So I just picked up the laptop and started typing words, completely clueless of where this was going. It is funny how used to I am to this feeling of not knowing what I am writing. What makes it worse is that I don’t get along very well with the unknown. I like being in the know, I like to be aware of what I feel and want. Considering how detached I am, most people find it difficult to believe that I am aware of what I feel. That is what perceptions do. They restrict us from having our own identities. And before you know it, you might just be trying to live up to a perception that you didn’t even agree with in the first place. Am I ranting? Yes I think I am ranting.
Now the clock’s ticking seems to have been overpowered by the high pitched singing of the alcoholic who stays in the apartment above mine. He does that a lot. The signing is still fine. What is bothering sometimes is the noise of vessels being thrown around in his house while he is having a drunk argument with his wife. No one knows if he is just throwing these vessels or is he aiming at his wife. She seems to be a pretty normal lady when I see her, usually on Sundays as she walks back home from Church. But can you really be normal if you are married to an alcoholic? I wonder. The singing has stopped now. Luckily for me, they didn’t fight today.
By now I am no longer thinking about this couple that should definitely get a divorce. I am now contemplating my existence. Not in a bad way. In a good way. In a “I love myself” way. Because I do love myself, a lot actually. I am thinking of the things I like, the people in my life. The ones I love, the ones I like and the ones I absolutely hate. And then there is this mysterious category of people who don’t fall in any of the above categories. They just exist. They are not making any valuable contribution to my life, but for some reason they are still there.
And I start thinking of everything and anything in my life. How back in school me and my best friend used to sit on the old wooden desks with our lunch boxes and conveniently ignore the rest of the class and be asocial together. The times me and my sister went crazy over a Bollywood movie. The stories that my mother told me every night. The time my father taught me how to ride a bike. The amusing conversations I have had with my housemate this year. Just to give you an idea, they go something like this- ” Are you sure that I can’t kill him?” ” You can, but he might not die, so blow up his house instead.” The ‘him’ here is , well.. a lot of people actually, so never mind.
But in a nutshell, I thought everything that has led to this moment. This moment where I am not really doing anything revolutionary, just staring into my mirthless fish tank and trying to think of something to write. Which brings me to my point ( and yes I do have a point ) that you don’t need much to thrive. You already have everything you need to survive within you. So the drunk guy will keep singing, the fish in my tank will keep dying, the people around me will continue to exist despite what I feel about them and my life will basically go on. But the problem is- thoughts. This overflowing sea of thoughts that brings in anxiety, nerves and complications just seconds after I tell myself I don’t need much to thrive. They take me right back to where I started and I no longer think that I have a point. And I kind of agree with what Silvya Path once said-” If I didn’t think, I’d be much happier.”
PS- After this very random post, another random confession- while reading what I had written, I read it in Meredith Grey’s voice for some reason;)