I have been thinking of running away the last few days.
#WednesdayWanderings
So I like films. I work in it. I make ad films. I consider myself a creative soul. I do not avail myself to traditional job opportunities that fetch me a monthly income. Rather, I work as a freelancer. It has its highs and lows in seasons that keep me busy. Like they say, when it rains, it pours- But nobody says when it doesn’t; the drought is fatal. So when I work, I have an abundance of it. And when I don’t it’s for months at a stretch of feeling like an unemployed imbecile with no talent. And this hits hard.
What I didn’t reveal earlier is that I am also 30 years old and unmarried. And in a society where I live, “Middle class India ‘’, judgment from folks begin to bother you by this time. However hard you try to pretend to be in a state of zen- You come to realize that you possess no skills like a monk. The pressure irks you to believe that maybe you are running late. Maybe, life is catching up with you and even getting ahead of you so fast. And your ability to remain unfazed by scrutiny is wearing off. It’s like the second instalment of Riami’s original Spiderman movie, where Peter loses his superhuman skills out of the blue and suffers the consequences of pretence.
Perhaps I believe my shield of young rebellion is breaking apart. And I am facing the consequences like in “This is water” — where David Foster Wallace emphasizes on the delusion of “I” being the most important person and the impact it has on you, as you grow up. Looks like it is all manifesting in my life
Although I have been in a happy relationship for almost two years now and I’m positive and feeling lucky. That I might’ve just found “The One”.Yet, the idea of marriage is still at arms length of feeling as the right thing to do. I am beginning to embrace the idea only because circumstances tempt me. Circumstances of hearing and seeing acquaintances tying knots at the drop of a hat. Circumstances, where my closest friends are getting hitched being seemingly sure of what they’re doing. Circumstances which on the surface, seem to be the absolute right thing to do, garnering happiness and pride for parents and family alike, which also I yearn for. But all of this, is external.
On the inside, I embody a desperate artist. And inevitably- I have hopped on to the ever so fast “Self doubt express” that is only catching up speed, as I grow old. Although I believe I have managed to make a name for myself(And very little badly managed money, of course), compared to those struggling artists stereotypes. Who suffer years of sacrifice, hoping for a miracle. I have made small miracles possible. Yet, my being aware of successful folks at the pinnacle of their craft- makes me feel as a failure who’s “Small Miracles” are a speck of dust. It deeply makes me question, am I even worthy?
Worthy of surviving as a mere 30 year old? Worthy of being even eligible to get married? Worthy of riding the train of life with another co-passenger, who’s equally or a little more ill equipped, about where do we go from here?
These intrusive thoughts result in me suffering this endearing disease called insomnia. I combat every night, twisting and turning, striving to get a few moments of shut eye. And as nature has it, the ripple effect of this impacts me during the day. Which also I combat, mostly with toxic distractions of binging on food, content, vices and just about anything that takes my mind off my own self.
Whilst I am embracing my sweet suffering, discovering that it’s getting harder day after day, my parents have their own burdens that naturally they download onto me. I mean who else have they got? Being a single, 30 year old, unmarried child is definitely not something one can thrive as, living under the same roof as my parents. They have their own conditionings to deal with. They had settled down by this time in their life, in their times, and I have not begun to consider it. About how they have to answer every relative and every societal being who’s quest in life is to intrude into others. About the fears of their child becoming that unlucky failure, aunties gossip about in kitty parties and uncles converse whilst leaning on water coolers. Like a snail on a surface, this fear particularly latches on to me leaving behind a thick trail of that gooey matter(read as: “Regret”) behind, that recurs in my dreams.
On the other end, is the fearless, smart, beautiful partner of mine who has also grown to believe that “I am the one” for her. We’re almost the same age and I do resonate with her outlook of life. In fact sometimes, I believe her rebellions and thoughts about settling down in life(read as: “Getting married”) hits home harder than ever. It almost feels like these are some thoughts, and it’s a crime that I don’t get to have them. And the fact that she expresses it, all the more attracts me to her. But at what cost?
Ending up together seems obvious. But the opinion about the institution of marriage that has developed from circumstances again- are hard to ignore. Circumstances stemming from the trauma that she’s endured growing up in a dysfunctional, broken family. Circumstances, where I hear news about the exponentially increasing rate of divorces and breakups of acquaintances and distant friends. Circumstances, of some of the most successful couples living the best of their lives, just by “Living in” together and not giving a damn how people perceive them. All of these questions, or rather confuses me further to decide “Where do we go from here?”
As increasingly clueless as I get, the diminishing blind faith belief of “One day you’ll figure it all out” is also catalysing the process faster than ever.
Funnily enough- the verse “Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am stuck in the middle with you” plays blaringly in my head. (Possible and probable coz I am a Tarintino fan). But what gives me solace amidst all of this, is that I accept that I am, in fact, stuck very much in the middle. It is all surrounding me, the self centered ego of me being the center of the world is manifesting in the cruelest form possible. How long I can continue to sanely be here, is both exciting and scary.
Exciting, because of my ability to ask “what’s the worst that can happen?” and my attitude of “Let’s face it no matter what” But extremely scary, because of the child in me fuelling the artist, who’s cynical that I might just succumb to the pressure. The child whose presence is far larger than half of the pie. The child who pretty much forms my identity to an extent.
And hence, the thought of running away from all this, is brewing thick and hot within me. I know it’s the coward’s route, the losers path, the ashamed, the selfish and the pettiest equivalent of committing suicide. But I can’t deny that I don’t consider it time and again. In fact I am almost about to embark upon it.
But the dichotomy is vivid, so crystal clear that it freezes me to move. And so I endure the pain, the guilt, the ever so lasting regret of years, all of which might just kill me. But as long as it doesn’t, I believe I am only growing stronger.
