As the pitter patter of the rain outside my windows robbed away my sleep, I’d two options. I could either get up and try to finish off that document I’ve been trying to work on or keep tossing and turning in my bed and wait for that elusive sleep.
The other option was to get up, have a drink, and think about the passage of time.
I chose the third option…
* * *
Coming of age has been a favorite expression of mine for some time now. To put things into perspective, I’ll be thirty by the end of this year.
In all the movies that I see, there is one moment, that one defining moment, when the protagonist realizes something deep, and that realization changes him. She/he understands the significance of that moment and “grows up”, and does something which is completely different to his/her philosophy of life till then.
I’m not sure if I had the moment. I’m sure there were moments which would’ve helped me be a grown up, but I never did (grow up). I keep waiting for a sign, which would tell me I’ve had a good run thus far, and now it is time to let go off my old ways and embrace the new.
But the old ways is me, if I change it, would I be a different person?
I look at myself, I know I have changed, but I cannot put pinpoint where or how or why. I’ve come very far from the day I landed in Bangalore with a backpack and a sense of adventure. The adventure is dead and the backpack trashed,along with other memories. But I keep hoping.
Hoping for what exactly, I’m not sure.
My life has been led by choosing the easiest path. It has been ruled by averting risks. I have had to rationalize most of the decisions I’ve ever taken, and the ones I couldn’t I continue regretting them. I know it’s the end of the road for change, and I know I need to change, but then how do I do it?
Every weekday I keep hoping for the weekend, that one weekend, I’ll take control of my life. Before every weekend, I make up a hazy decision on things I need to do, but by Sunday evening, I’ll be wondering if I should start them now. Thus the weekend comes and goes, and the wait continues.
I keep hoping that by ignoring problems, they’ll go away. And I’ve been lucky all my life, because it’s been going away. Now suddenly when running away is not an option, I find myself woefully unprepared to fight.
* * *
And then a lightning strikes somewhere, and the darkness is shamed into revealing its secrets outside my window, and I think nothing ever changes.
I remember the old lines by Gibran – For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
Does it mean, death is melting into the sun, dissolving into light and becoming nothing? So is living, being a blot in the day, a prism to split the sun, and create some rainbows while at it?
* * *