Wednesday, 23 December 2015

Dear Diary: Back again

One should think I should be used to the desultory entries of this dusty space by now, though after each bout of absence I cannot help being overcome by a feeling of alienation. It never fails to bewilder me how radically things are altered in but a mere year, which possesses the odd ability to drag on for what seems like a millennium and simultaneously hightail past in the catch of a breath, the blink of an eye.

I was blessed by various opportunities to catch up with several old friends, through which sessions it was gleaned certain changes in ethos and behaviorism, some of which were pleasing to discover, though somewhat startling to realize. Change, for instance, is something I have begun profoundly to internalize. The idea was not novel, the difference between theorisation and incorporation but a mere abstraction of mind. More than anything, I have begun to embrace it, allowing myself to accept the inevitability of entrances and exits of individuals of whom I have had the profound privilege of being thus acquainted --though in brutal honesty it must be admitted that the departure of some more than others have left me with greater than a little misgiving and many pangs of ruefulness.

Academic life has caught up in intensity, though the rigor and pace have progressively been assimilated to, which causes school to be a fair bit more sufferable. I have in fact rather taken to the challenge of producing work under the draconian time restrictions and formats, the challenge being somewhat of an impetus to locate new personal boundaries. Light-hearted banter with the simultaneously feared and respected professors has grown to be an enchanting ritual of much delectation.  In fact, it was fairly shocking to discover that my difficulties lay not so much on academic work as it did on my peer interaction and social life as a whole. It might well be grossly obnoxious a statement to say that it was not till recently that I realized not everyone took well to who I was. It was rather timely a realization, almost a little tardy even, but much needed nonetheless.

Just hours ago I had just ended a movie, which brought me back to my very first experience of love, all the way back when I was barely eighteen. It was a somewhat decrepit memory I had always tried to block out, chiefly because it was so emotive. When I was not yet afraid to love, to hold dreams, to place my entire heart full of hope for a gamble I thought worthwhile. But stumbling upon old messages demanded that I recognize those words were real, that at some moment in history they were all I held on to. I suppose it was nice, to know I had once been like that. So young, so brassy, and lionhearted. So very unafraid, despite the odds. It stung to know that somewhere along the way, I lost that girl for a bit --and along with it, perhaps some scruples and codes of conduct to which I had formerly vowed to abide by. My own blameworthiness haunts me till this day and self-castigation serves as no form of mollification but a stimulant that aggravates the whole situation. But I suppose it is something we all go through, and the best and perhaps even the only thing we might do is to discern the lapses and resolve never again to commit them.

For all that was and have been I can only say that I have been so blessed and so protected, many a time escaping severe ramifications by barely an inch. And for what will be, I anticipate with animation and trepidation, geniality and melancholy, in a simultaneous ball of emotion that eludes the alphabets and strings of grammatical rules we have so constructed for ourselves.

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