To get a hang of who I am, I will share with you a journal written two years ago, when I was 20 years young.
How quickly the years pass, I remember the year 2002 when I was in Delhi, and I lied for the first time to my father — that I was unwell and couldn’t go to the school that day. So he took me to Deer Park, where we walked a lot — me clinging onto his hand, and in the afternoon we had Maggi that mum had packed for me. I remember 2005 when we shifted to Anantapur and I went to Hotel Jayabharat and had the worst Masala Dosa ever. That was where I learnt the value of friendship — entire days of cricket, and Holi, and learning Hindi. The year 2007, in Madurai, where we lived in a small rented apartment which had a small tank that held salt water. I had to sift through this water to obtain a mug of clean water with no worms. It was here that I learned cycling, and it was here that I fell for the first time and fractured my arm. The year 2011, when I experienced the final moments of The World Cup Final in my tiny radio and leapt with joy when India won. 2012, when everyone waited anxiously for December 21 for the world to end. Those were the days filled with innocence, joy, and no care in the world. I learned sadness when I first fell in love. I understood depression in the days that followed the farewell in 12th . I felt happiness when my sister gave birth to a baby boy. Also, I realized that there were two types of pain : Physical pain — the fracture in my arm, and Mental pain — when I faced rejection, failing for the first time in my life.
If any of this has taught me anything, it is that everything passes with time. The pain or sadness never completely leave us, but it is reduced to a manageable dullness. These things, these memories make us what we are today, what I have become today. Till last month, every day was an uphill task, pulling on just to live the next day, filled with so much sadness that I never thought I could return from the darkness. Why does a 20-year-old guy even talk like this?? Everyone has their own pains and their own coping mechanisms. Mine was a girl ( what else!) and my coping mechanism was a virtual world of dreams in which I righted every wrong I had done and everything finally leads to me being with her.
Why is it always a girl! Why can’t a person live without love? That is actually a stupid question. What is life, but love?
I love writing journals. And not surprisingly, most of my journals are written when I am sad, and naturally, it involves her. I have always had thoughts about writing a novel based on my life. After all, such real-life stories seem to dominate the market nowadays. But then, I shy away from it, fearing another bout of depression if I recreated the events of my past. So, here I am, mulling over ideas in my head and typing away random thoughts, a can of beer and my pet cat my only companions. “
Yep. That is me — a seasoned dreamer, a hopeless romantic, and an overly optimistic fool.
Journals have always been a place for me to vent my pent-up emotions and they can end up getting really violent at times. So, good luck reading them!