Sighing and brooding, as the days fleeted by, I wonder, was it for the failed attempts or the fact that time maybe has left me behind in the regular rat race, far behind those mocking faces who probably hate me for some uncertain reasons and have possibly gained momentum themselves.
How do I say how do I feel?
What do I say what do I feel?
Is it the conflict of interests or the wicked temptations that have made of me a horrendous procrastinator. I wonder, I ponder, with contemplation and a little hope.
But there's a saying, right: "Every single individual has their own clock ticking by for them, solely for them. So never let anyone manipulate your clock. Stay composed. Stick to your beliefs firmly. They will guide you through."
But I guess, these're mere words that are merely words with no gravity, no substance.
Should I be guilty being overjoyed to be back home after a thrashing downfall?
I was immensely happy to have been released from this potential prison: prison for veiled and crushed dreams, prison for desires- especially rather exclusively for girls(Nevertheless, the ultra protective hypocrites do exist), a prison that looms large with every growing second. All those dreams which are maybe apparent but rejected and murdered and the rest are not even discovered; dreams that are shrouded by the double standards of the society: of acceptance of their children's career uncertainties and yet, again, killing them under their feet.
The lucky and unlucky me, sometimes am despondent by the gruelling nagging and the frequent pressure: Ah! Not the positive as much as the super negative social pressure , the peer pressure, the society whom we constitute. As if this wasn't enough, comes the helpless and follow-up positive pressure of parents' expectations: Expectations bound by huge expenses incurred on you, overriding all your efforts, your mental state and all that surrounds you.
Efforts: efforts of trial, efforts of a person who has never really tried to dig out and hunt for those concealed skills and talent, in there, and who finally believes is doing so, are stopped by none other than those who themselves, one day, had encouraged and pushed her to make efforts, where she deemed fit to do so.
This pestering question of the delusional existence of the society, that doesn't give a damn as to how happy you're, if you comply with their universal protocol, to attain the clichéd settled life, gnaws at me.
Heading nowhere in this flustered state of gibberish, I doubt my thoughts to come down to paper, if they ever appear at all.
Eventually, I marvel and lament the power of our education system that can make or break a life.
Disclaimer:- Exceptions do exist mostly..