Quarter life crisis

Light up, light up
As if you have a choice
Even if you cannot hear my voice
I’ll be right beside you dear

Grey’s Anatomy has got me listening to a bunch of songs I used to listen to a hundred times a day. Run by Snow Patrol is one of them. It’s probably one of the most amazing songs ever.

When did life get here? I’m nineteen. My get-to-be-emo days are almost over. My little cousins are not so little anymore. One told me the other day that she likes Taylor Lautner without his shirt on, and another other one has just developed her first crush on a classmate.

Sigh.

I may not be as dark and twisty as before, love age can do that to you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss it. The dark and twisty period, it can be defining. Holed up in your room, with heartbreak songs in the background as you begin to pack away another unfinished chapter of love. Chocolate wrappers spread on the floor, and a romance novel lying spine up on the bed.

And then one day, you wake up, and you realize you’re halfway through college.

Writing

I can write. I know I can. Sometimes its the easiest thing in the world, and sometimes the blank white screen is most intimidating. But when the words come, I know they are the right ones.

I trust the words that flow out, simply because there’s a reason why one was formed and another drifted off to be used later. I rarely edit what I write (not a good thing all the time) because then it isn’t me anymore, it isn’t me sitting in the same space as those words. We need to be on the same page literally, the words need to have the same importance as me creating them. Otherwise I kill their tiny little squiggly lives, like mosquitoes being squished.

I write for me, and I watch her write for adulation. Who gets it, then? He, who is forming all those ideas in her head? What is the difference between them. I can’t see it. Hypocrite I want to shout, but she wont hear me. Won’t listen. It’s only the sound of one voice that will spur her on.

So, my words and I, we will sit and wait.

And no, I do not have MPD.

Zip.

It’s amazing how judgemental I’ve become lately. That may sound a little smug, but really, it is the truth. Sometimes it feels like I’m pushing againt a stone wall, thats set in it’s ways. A wall I have to scale eventually, and I want to be close to doing that.

College is college. I may have become bitchier, but restraint is a quality I’ve learnt to appreciate a heck of a lot. Glaring holes in the tapestry, the thread is wearing away and maybe I feel like tugging at a loose end just to watch the whole thing unravel, but that will happen on its own if I wait long enough. We all love watching people get put in their places, but I know it will be my turn soon. There are so many chances to slip up, to let go of something thats been in my reach all this while, and now suddenly that need to retain that sense of being me in this class of immensely talented individuals is overwhelming, even if its only in my head.

Often, judgement feels like the only thing thats mine anymore. That the words in my head are in their safest place, where nobody can get at them but me. I guess that’s why there hasn’t been much blogging lately.

Self, always remember at the end of the day, I am still that girl who prefers to sit in the far left corner of the room, but censorship will get me nowhere.

And I will try to fix you.

When you try your best but you don’t succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can’t sleep
Stuck in reverse

- Fix You (Coldplay)

This song always puts things in perespective for me. Always. It has this power of sitting me down, face-to-face and saying look, shit happens. Chris Martin may have written this song for Gwenyth Paltrow after her father died, but everytime I listen to this song, it hits a raw nerve somewhere.

“Stuck in reverse” is a phenomenon I am slowly getting used to. It’s something I love at times, and I detest it at other moments. When I crave a whirlwind, a gentle steady breeze is a bit of a let down but as I get older, I realise I’d rather have the breeze. In all the blur of activity, listening to this song is a translucency process.

I become easier to read for myself.

So if there’s anyone fixing me right now, Chris Martin, it’s me.

If this were Facebook..

..this would say :

Geetanjali Chitnis is back from her blogging hiatus.

Let me say that a) the hiatus was totally unplanned for and b) I have no idea why I’m blabbing about the hiatus but then c) I’ve always wanted to make one of these hello-I-am-back-from-my-hiatus-did-you-miss-me-oh-say-you-did-please kind of posts.

ANYWAY. Lately, I’ve been feeling kind of..old. It might have something to do with the fact that I was a “working” woman for a month, since I interned at one of the city’s newspapers. I wrote for the tabloid, got about 16 by lines, and I’m happy. Like someone put it, it was soul training in a sense. The point is, I’m suddenly realizing heck, I’m not going to be able to say I’m somethingteen for much longer (never mind the fact that my birthday is in March). The tween-teen-twen jump is not looking good.

I went off on a four day vacation with my friends from school, where I got to act totally ditzy and blonde and serious all at the same time, and well, I don’t seem to be like that in real life any more. The time away from parents, boyfriend (there was no mobile network coverage), and life in general was great and I  meant it when I messaged my dad to say I really didn’t want to come home! But as I sat there listening to all the girly conversations, it hit me (and the rest, I think) that in a year, none of us had really changed all that much. Apart from a one major break up, all of us were still US. And I don’t know whether thats a good thing or bad.

I devoured Megan McCafferty’s Sloppy Firsts – it made me miss high school. Boys, bitchy friends and bathroom drama.

The Textbook

About a week ago, I was looking for a book in my (rather dusty) cupboard when I found myself staring at a thick blue book. Pulling it out, I realised it was a Political Science text book I had bought in the 11th grade.

I didn’t need to flip through it to remember what I learnt. Political Science was quite simply one of my favourite subjects in school, one that I looked forward to quite eagerly. Initially, it was a bit draggish with learning about Hobbes, Locke and Rousseau (the “project” which divided the class into three groups – we still look at each other and say “hey, where you Hobbes or Rousseau?”), but then once I reached 12th grade, it was the subject that got me thinking about an issue throughout the day.

When I was younger, I sincerely believed all politicians studied Political Science before they became politicians. I imagined them all going to Politician College, their uniform being white kurta-dhoti, carrying thick politician text books. I believed they studied how to run the my country.

Today, I know better. I know that there is no Politician College. There are no thick politician books, and there definitely is no studying going on. Yet, today I went out and voted. Why?

Well there’s the usual argument – if you don’t vote, you don’t have the right to complain about the government. Also, what if I didn’t live in a democratic country? What if I lived somewhere where I had no *option* to vote for someone?

It’s a sad thought when I think about the number of eligible voters who have left the country to study/live somewhere else. Some of these people will never have the opportunity to vote in India, some might. But the point is, when I’m here, why shouldn’t I vote? Sure, getting hold of my Voters ID card was an exercise on its own, and it’s filled with mistakes (something I hope to get rectified before the next election) but after that, all I needed to do was walk over to the next street, show my ID, get my finger dabbed with ink and press a blue button.

Back to the Political Science book. I remember thinking this book was a god send during the boards, as it pretty much listed out everything I need from the exam point of view. But now I realise, those exam questions aren’t just exam questions do deal with once and forget about later. They reappear again and again, as questions voiced all over the country – What is democracy, why is it important? What are the basic duties of a political representative? What is a party manifesto, why is it necessary? What is secularism? What are vote bank politics?

I answered these questions on paper, and I learnt about fair and unfair election practices in a classroom, but I still see unfair practices around. I still see people asking for schools, electricity, employment oppurtunites, good roads and a decent sanitation system – things that I, and the rest of the world, deem as important to a citizen. So since I have one vote, and the opportunity to cast it independently, I vote in favour of these things.

Flying, in a sense

I love airports. It might have to do with the fact that I love flying, but I really do love airports.

I love sitting outside the ‘Arrival’ area, watching people. I know it’s creepy, in fact a lot of people could be wondering ‘Ok who is this creepy girl and why is she watching me’, but I really can’t help myself. I smile when I watch the two little hyper boys run towards their grinning grandparents, each little boy attempting to push the heavy baggage carts. I tear up (just a little) as I watch aging parents embrace the son they probably haven’t seen for while as he walks out, probably just off a flight from the US. I scoff at the all white netas, the ones nobody knows, as they walk out with folded hands looking for the garlands that wont greet them, hoping that somebody will notice the useless posse of harried looking PA’s around them, and maybe give them some importance.

But of all the things the scene that I love most to watch are the ones which involve the shy married/engaged couple, probably a husband returning from a business trip, as he catches sight of his wife, the self-conscious smiles, the words of greeting, and then surprising both of them, the arm slung across her shoulders pulling her into his embrace, as they make their way home.

My Day.

I hate settling.

I get restless the second things get mundane and routine. It was easier to deal with when I was younger, but not so now. I have commitments to keep, other people who are affected by my decisions, and I am intensely aware of this now more than ever.

Today was one of those days when I kind of.. sunk. Into myself, I guess, I’m not sure, but it definitely felt bleak. So I went and had some non-veg lasagna at Sweet Chariot, and headed to Time Out.

Books make me happy. It’s not something I can explain. Their newness, their crispy pages, their sheer number. I like running my fingers over their spines, smiling at the ones I’ve read, looking longingly at the ones I wan’t but can’t have, and looking grimly at the ones that I am determined to buy some day. I must look like a total dork in a bookshop, but I can’t help it.  I picked up a fresh, warm looking copy of Jane Eyre that I need to read for college anyway.

Then I headed over to the stationary section. The handmade paper notebooks.. sigh. I just want to grab them all and fill them with everything I can. They also happen to be ridiculously expensive, so I didn’t pick anything up, but I will succumb soon enough, I know I will. I also did a quick round of the Post-it and notebook section.

And after this I felt much, much better.