I have been highly irregular in maintaining this blog for the last year. A lot has been happening and I, frankly, didn’t have the time or energy to document any of the happy (or melancholic) events that were occurring around me; to me.
I do not come here today t account for everything that’s gone by but I often sit and wonder whether I settle for things. As I retrospect, I wonder, with certainty, that I build things up in my head. My idea of a perfect life, of happiness, of love- it is all over rated- and I feel so because true happiness, love or even life has eluded my definitions of them being joyous, momentous or perfect respectively.
Life, well, it has been quite a bitch in some aspects and has been reasonable in the others. I ‘ve learn to quietly accept what it dishes out and do the best I can with it.
Happiness could be a more frequent visitor, but then again, who doesn’t wish so?
Love has turned out to be a whole different ball game. I always assumed that the kind of love I embrace would be the thing of fairy-tales. I have, since the time I grasped its concept, imagined that I would be in love with a storyteller, someone who would narrate tales of our epic romance to one and all. I’ve fallen in love with a man who is almost the opposite. It is love, but it is vastly different from the love I am used to or expected. It is almost like I am being forced to be mature (although he would beg to differ about the status of my maturiy) when I want to really just sit on the ledge of a wall and have ice cream with him.
Though his ideas of romance do match with mine in essence (we both love ice cream), there seems to be a bit of a tussle thereafter (I’d want to be on a ledge that’s on the 47th floor and he has acrophobia.) In the past year, I have come to adore him and that “fact” that he reciprocates the same is as comforting as a pair of woolen socks on a winter night. I have often been tempted to wonder what life would be without him. It would certainly have a lot less to look forward to. Every week is a countdown to the weekend which is when I get to meet him. he excitement builds up every Wednesday and the days get longer and longer till Friday night and then, Saturday arrives with a flurry and in no time, I’m on the bus to meet him.
That said, if this love is so different form the love I imagined he and I would share, then what is it? I have not any answer.
At the same time, I find myself at a loss for friends. This will come as a shock to all those who consider themselves to be my friend, and I am deeply apologetic for that, but my idea of friendship, much like my idea of romance, is rose-tinted. Friendship is that in which you know what is happening in my life and I, yours. And while I do have a few humans that fall into that definition around me, here in college, they don’t qualify as best friends, well, because they we haven’t yet passed the test of time. The two people I considered closest to me do not have the hours, means or energy to communicate with me and the ones who do have the three designated mandatories (I suppose) don’t know the words to say when I need words to be said.
I have so many conflicts within myself. I over think and I over analyse. I wish things were smoother and decisions were easier to make. I wish I knew if this what I deserve and, trust me, I know what anyone deserves is always far superior to what they think they should have. And, while I know this fact, I wish someone would just hand me the answers and let me know if my ideas of friendship, love and happiness in general need to be re-thought and re-designed. I don’t want a friendship that is born out of obligations- of time, history or habit. I don’t want anyone to think they are settling for me, and if they aren’t settling for me, is it not fair that I expect some sort of acknowledgement? Or is that, as well, a part of my rosy, utopia-filled approach to life? Having said everything, I hope that I make the people around me, friends and lover, feel wanted, respected, loved, admired and everything else that is good.
I have a lot of love to give but right now, very few people to give it to. This is not a cry for company or help. It is just a documentation of confusion over some of the things I thought were crystal clear to one as articulate as myself (look at me being not-so-modest). I never thought I would face troubles over the basic human relationships of life.
In every relationship, romantic or not, there is a settler and a reacher (courtesy: How I Met Your Mother)
In the relationships I have, I wonder if I’m the settler or if I’m the reacher.