li-lacking?

you like po-tay-to, i like po-tah-to

Well, well, well, look who is thinking yet again. I swear to god sometimes I want to break my head open so that I can scream at everything, everywhere, all at once. I have been wondering (again) about faith and the rotten lots of life. Due to some sick cosmic joke, I find myself being surrounded by genuinely incredible and plastic incredible people at the same time. Do I deserve the latter? No. Do they fulfil my perverted need for gathering gossip? Yes. Do I hate the process? Absolutely.

You see, I am lying in a philosophical nowhere space. My faith has conviction, but not quite enough. I am not able to actually have a go at certain situations that have often been caused by either deliberate malice or a desperate need to look ‘important’. Whatever. I am consumed now with this other crazy thought that a lot of the good things in the world, and okay, the universe at large, are being taken away by people who have never been grateful in their entire lives. This is a bad game of passing the parcel. I am not truly jealous, though I am aware that it sounds like it. I am unsure as to how I am sustaining this contradiction, but I am. I am pissed off and angry, and I cannot do anything about it because I need to value my time and not spend it on those who won’t give a fuck. The past few days have made me realize that becoming a bottle is dangerous, and I can feel that now more than ever.

I have to breathe. Spending seconds, minutes, and hours in groups like these has made me look inside myself more than I need to. I am not a tunnel, thank you very much. I cannot pretend to be a papier-mache model of sadness while having most of my life figured out. I cannot complain, complain, complain, complain, and then say that, “oh, the world affects me”. No, it doesn’t because you have smudged goggles for eyes. You do not wish to see anything beyond your precious bubble. You want a herd of clockwork dolls that say yes and yes. I cannot steal attention by wearing a jazzy suit of my achievements, whatever they may be. If I have ever gotten attention, it is only because I have worked for it or the universe has played a sick joke on me, and I have found out things that I was oblivious to. I cannot lie because I am a terrible liar and will laugh the second someone makes eye contact with me. All of them have perfectly solvable and normal lives, which they brand on my (and everyone’s) face like a foundation that makes your skin sweaty. Am I lacking in something? Do I need to become a pumpkin and carve myself open? Is that what this is about? Becoming a (sick excuse) for a ghost?

I cannot talk about sex, even though I think about it, because the men I am surrounded with are like badly cooked plain idlis. It is like you are talking to a tissue roll because their personalities are that thin. They cannot hold a semblance of a conversation, and yet they want to take you out. Take me out where? To the rock bottom of boredom? They are the first ones to compliment your outfit and the last ones to leave your chat box. It is like being at a party where nobody has bathed. Also, they complain about being rejected as if you are the school counsellor who will hold their hand and tell them that they are special. Yes, they are SPECIALLY dense at taking hints. Oh, and don’t even get me started with the dirty talking and the ‘sweet’ suffixes. Like hello, newsflash: calling me a “good girl” won’t automatically solve the job. My tap isn’t always leaking, and you’re not a plumber. Calling me “love” is just terrible. Please. Step up.

But there’s hope. At least that persists, thank god. I love reading The Princess Diaries and occasionally watching beautiful romcoms like When Harry Met Sally, and hilarious and comforting sitcoms like 30 Rock and Parks and Rec. I am then left wondering that if everyone’s gut instinct works in their favor, and in short, if everything works out for them despite the odds, then it will all work out for me too. Here’s a cute song for all of us: