Too Young To Old

I feel like I am constantly oscillating between two feelings.

One part of my brain tells me this: You're only 28. It's okay if you don't know what you want. Look at all the amazing things you have gotten to do so far. Look at all the kickass people you have gotten to interact with in your journey. Look at what a full life you have lived! Do what you want to do. If not now then when?

You also hear these incredible stories about people who went back to school in their 50s or started a successful business in their 40s. Stories that reiterate that age is just a fucking number. 

But then there is the other part of my brain that can't escape the societal model of living life. That can't escape the conditioning all of us are a part of. It's the same conditioning that tells you to finish 10th grade then 12th grade then college then get a job then get married then have babies and yep, you're wrapped up by 30. You are a full adult. Now live this life, congratulations!

Which brings me to the other part of by brain that says: You spend your 20s working hard and laying the foundation for the rest of your life. Hustle hard at all costs, think about marriage, think about your eggs drying up, about investments, think about where you see yourself in your 50s. If not now then when?

The rest of my life? WOAH! That's a long long time! In our 20s, technically we haven't even lived half our lives yet. And if we think about it, can we really count all the time before say you were a teenager as "living''? So we have, what, like 15 years of being an actual functioning human.

The rest of my life! How can I make decisions right now that impact such a long duration of my life with such a short duration of experience?

And as the world is going these days, who knows how much of the rest of my life is left anyway?

Imposter vs Libra

Diwali is an interesting time. Probably the only time in the year when I feel homesick. But it's so temporary, it's annoying.

It doesn't happen a lot, but I wake up feeling alone these days. Noone to talk to and nothing to talk to even. I wake up really early, so most of my friends are asleep hence not available at the time. And then I decide to smoke some.

Wake And Bake is one of my most favorite rituals of all time. The inimitable silence of the morning with the slight chill in the air goes very well with some generous portions of marijuana. I sometimes can't believe that I am essentially a stoner now. Remember growing up when that was just not an option? You were never going to do "drugs" and then you grew up. And yes, marijuana was "drugs". And now... Oh well.
I don't remember the last time I was in a social situation where noone smoked. It just does not happen anymore. When did we get here?

I truly enjoy getting high tho. It's great. Always fun. Convinient. No hangover. I should have led with the "no hangover", right? Can't believe how many days of my youth I've wasted on hangovers.

Anyway, it doesn't happen a lot, but I wake up feeling alone these days. And then I decide to smoke some. And it feels like I need someone around... Oddly, to take care of me. To ask me questions about what thoughts I've been having, to make my bed for me, to eat breakfast with me, to discuss how great Koffee With Karan is, to really analyze what happened in 2014, to tell me they love me.

It's odd because it's not a consistent feeling. And more importantly, I am actually very loved and understood and supported and rooted for. But every now and then it all seems like a big lie. The imposter syndrome kicks in and there are very few places to go from there.

Interestingly tho, these feelings don't persist through the day. In my vulnerable morning high state, I text a bunch of people. I drop a heyy, make it seem like a casual check in, make plans with them for the day.... And by the time they're up, my feelings passes. By the time they text me, I'm back to not needing anyone. Which brings me to my 'crazy'.

I recently met this girl that I had a great time with and she asked me what my crazy was cz I seem so sorted. And I was like, hm, noone has ever asked me that before. So I asked her what her crazy was and she said her obsession with what people think about her. She told me how earlier she would meet me and on her way just replay the whole meeting to obsess over all the times I may have judged or she came across as stupid. Over time she's become much better and now whenever she spirals, she reminds herself that this is her overthinking and not the reality.

I thought about it briefly and I told her I think my crazy used to be my obsession with men. Or my relationship with them. I never knew what I wanted but I wanted something. I'd be emotionally abusive (and abused) and manipulative for no reason. And there would always be some around. I'd always be either getting into or getting out of some man noise. I'd want them and I'd hate them all at them same time. Over time I realized that my problem wasn't so much that I was in love them. My problem was that it would bother me if they were not in love with me. If I'd see them drifting or moving on, I'd lure them back in and seduce them into loving me more than I needed to be loved and then feel suffocated by it. It was constantly on.

Does that make sense?

After a time, I recognised it and almost cut of all relationships - sexual or otherwise - that aren't adding any value to my life. If anything, are taking away more for me. I think that was an important decision towards the person I am proud to be today - Zen, calm and without so much noise in the head.

It doesn't happen a lot, but I wake up feeling alone these days. And then I smoke some. And by the time my people text me, I'm back to not needing anyone. And I can't help but think if as years went by, I've replaced my need for men to love me more than I need with my need for people to love me more than I need. My days go in seducing them into staying interested and as soon as I have the attention, I want to cancel all plans and parties.

Of course, this could also be some high talk. I scored some kickass stuff for my birthday which was last weekend. And i spent it with some of my favourite faces and my heart was full of pure unadulterated love for them.

Gues this is what being a Libra is about? Agreeing with everything and not with anything all at once.

Wow. Astrology? Yah, must be really good stuff.

I'm out.

Bye.

It was fun vent-writing after so long. Wow.

Instagram Captions

Do I really only write now when I'm feeling sad or do the Instagram captions count for something?

Indians Hate Doctors

I cry each time I speak to my father.
It is not even intentional or voluntary.
It just happens.

It is not even related to the conversation we had on the phone.
It is not even because of anything he may have said.
It just happens.

I hang up and I let tears roll down my face for a gold 30minutes as I just sit there in silence. And then wipe my face and go on with my life, almost without acknowledging that this is a fucked up pattern.

The good thing is that we don't talk often. Or at all really. The conversations are few and far between. So by the time it happens again, I usually find myself having forgotten the pain from the after math of the previous conversation.

The bad thing is that I find it really hard to cry otherwise. So for all intents and purposes this is my only real release. And I am not emotionally ready for a deep dive into my subconscious to figure why I feel what I feel.

But right now, I am not feeling too good.
I am not feeling up to unravel the multiple layers of our relationship.
But I am feeling sad. And helpless. And overwhelmed. And the tears aren't stopping.

At what point do I bring this up with someone? At what point do I need to seriously address it?
At what point does this change?
Does it ever?
Or is it like those headaches you get once in a while if you're out in the heat for too long, you pop a pill and then you forget about it, cz the headache isn't an active part of your life any way.

And Indians hate going to doctors and getting lomg term solutions anyway. So....

Aloof

I guess we just have to realize the control (or lack thereof) we have over people or things.

I guess what naturally happens then is that slowly but surely you start getting out of fucks. The sentiment that it stems from is that if the things you do for someone is never really going to be enough, you might as well stop. Take a step back, try seeing it from an objective point of view.

And what happens when the objective point of view doesn't make sense to you?

I guess you start getting aloof.

Tattoos

I am big believer of tattoos. It’s rather surprising, given my commitment phobia that’s only managed to run deeper over the years. But I love tattoos and the idea of getting a tattoo. It’s such a beautiful expression of who you are/were/might want to be and if it didn’t cost as much as they do, I’d be getting a few neat ones every year.

I also don’t pry too much about other people’s tattoos or what the meaning behind each branding is. I just smile internally each time I see a person sporting one. I don’t know why there’s so much pressure about justifying your tattoo to the other person - I’m just like, you wanted to get a Pinocchio’s nose on your dick? Do you, man! You think butterflies are the coolest thing in the world and that’s why you got them tattooed on your shoulder? Well, they probably are! The judgment needs to stop.

When people ask me about my tattoo, I tell them something vague now: I tell them I was drunk when I got it. I tell them it means nothing at all. I tell them it reminds me of the recklessness of my youth. I actually once had someone believe that my and my then BFF were all set to get matching tattoos, but she bailed on me after I got mine.

My conversations with people tell me that what scares everyone most about tattoos is the sheer permanence of it. Which is weird, because most of us have managed to embrace our permanent insecurities just fine. Also is it just me or the fact that you felt something strong enough to have it drilled on your body fucking incredible? So what if you “regret” it years later? Like, you didn’t regret your outfit at your 11th birthday party.

I mean, say I am dating someone and I get the person’s name tattooed on me. As most stories go, say I break up with that person and life goes on. Will it not always be amazing to me that I was capable of loving someone so deeply? Isn’t that what most of us want - to be able to love endlessly, uncontrollably and infinitely.

Boobs.

He was obsessed with my boobs. He was one of my first few consequential sexual experiences in life and he just couldn’t get enough. He’d grab them as he pleased, he’d put his head on them and sleep in on rainy afternoons and he’d suck them till they hurt sometimes. I was in the 10th grade and if I’d leave my top button unbuttoned of this particular yellow shirt, it’d make him crazy.

I remember the first time he touched my boobs. It was my first real kiss and I’ll forever be indebted to him for making it as amazing as he did. I still feel tingly when I think about it - which admittedly, is often enough. There we were - I was pinned against the wall in a dark room and he kissed me like he’d loved me forever. His hand slowly slid inside my shirt and I think I was way too young to feel what I felt.

Like I said: tingly.

Years after we broke up, we reconnected and conveniently fell into a pattern of hyper-sexual behavior. We stopped making love, but we’d fuck all the time. He was still obsessed with my boobs. He’d suck me off in the backseat of his car and ask me for pictures when I moved to a new city. He’d pinch and he’d bite and I’ve seen him jerk off once to me just stroking my nipples softly.

We were really good in bed together, but I guess when you’re young and doped out, you need more loving than you need love. He was still obsessed with my boobs. I remember I’d met him once with someone else’s marks on my chest and he wasn’t impressed at all. He didn’t look at me when he came that day.

It’s almost poetic then that it was he who found the lumps in my breasts.