I am a time wasting machine. For real. I can waste any amount of time and any kind of time, you know, precious and maybe-precious-but-don’t-yet-know-if-it-is-precious. It’s almost as if I own my personal gazette of time wasting pursuits that I inadvertently follow on a fairly quotidian basis. That’s not it, though. What isn’t cool is the fact that I regret wasting time after wasting time, wasting even more time in the process. And then — I write about wasting time. Magnifique!
One would wonder what does one do to waste time or rather what’s in that fancied journal of mine? The answer is none of your business because you know you own one too. Everyone does. It’s fucking normal to waste time. We are human and we waste time because — Pinterest and Instagram and Facebook and Twitter and Whatsapp and Youtube and inter-MINDBOGGLING-net! And dude, movies and the million shows with a billion seasons and books and arts and crafts and fashion and …….. and romance!!! My mind then slips into a state of a vicious conundrum. It’s a callous duel between faith and incredulity.
They say there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. The question is who made the rules? Ruminating well enough with the facts and the figures of how everything could be prioritized and moderated, I remain to be a bit baffled by the norms of the world or rather my immediate surroundings but we won’t go into that. It’s painful. In my ass. The point is perhaps I am wrong. I am wrong when I say I “waste” time.
Take this for instance. Assume you are on your death bed (I hope that day never comes but just in case). You are surrounded with nothing but infinite silence and a sense of awareness of your last few moments. What are you thinking?
Are you thinking about that lanky lass who always came first in class and who you could never beat or are you thinking about your first kiss? Are you thinking about your GPA or the impromptu road trip you took in college with a crazy set of buffoons? Are you thinking about the days and nights you spent in that office working on your dream project or your baby’s first eccentric yet adorable laughter? The certificates or your sketch on that lemon green wall? The trophies or the moments?
This life isn’t about destinations. It’s about the journey. You got to pick up a beautiful pen and write down your own preference of how you’d like to cover that distance towards your goal. And it’s important. People forget to live their lives while trying to get somewhere. Indulging in anything that doesn’t take one closer to one’s goal is a sin and there is hardly any room for self discovery. Parents choose, society chooses and a 16 year old is trapped in an amaranthine cycle of expectations and atrocities that follow. I distinctively remember the words of Varun Agarwal’s Mom and Anu Aunty for his escapades with ‘the sin’ – “Are you mad or what?” — sounds familiar? ofcourse, it does!
But who can really decide what’s good or what’s bad for me except a 21 year old me? Who is allowed to set the boundaries for me? They talk about breaking free but why do they just talk about things and not do them? Why do they have a problem when I try to break free? It really is a pathetic position.
My journal is full of stuff nobody asked me to do. I love it. I love those things. That’s perhaps because I have really vague targets in my life or perhaps I have it deeply impressed in my consciousness that happiness is our only destination and nothing is constant but change. I feel sad about this turmoil in my head sometimes but there is absolutely nothing that a good movie+coffee+rain+romance hasn’t been able to alleviate.
That’s my wall. I feel like it speaks to me sometimes and it feels good because I created something that’s lifeless and talks. 🙂