Heyaa,
Earlier this morning, I was browsing through my notes, peeking at my random thoughts. In my notes app, I dump my musings, one-liners or any interesting incident of the week.
My monthly reviews, book review notes, and links that make no sense now are all in there.
As organised Iām with client work, so disorganised Iām with my personal life. Even my saved tweets, saved reels, and saved screenshots are all over.
They all would create an enchanting mosaic if only I could arrange them together. Abstract, but art.
OK, I was going through my notes, peeking at my random thoughts. And de-cluttering, deleting whatever I needed no more. And I came across this:
āI feel like just being in the black.ā
There were a few more lines, added like a Shakespearean sonnet. (humble brag)
And it made no sense. It didn't ring any bell, any specific bell whatsoever. But then, it also rang many bells. It pulled me into a rigmarole of memories. Want to swim along?
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OK, back to my storyā¦
When I was a kid, a high-school kid, I had a fascination with blue shirts. Whenever mom took me to buy shirts, I would buy one in blue. Light blue, bright blue, dark blue, denim blue. Narrow-striped, wide-striped, checkered; small and largeā¦ anything. Mostly in blue.
Only the blue ones on the shelf or row attracted me. Maybe, it made choosing easy. Colour; one less thing to worry about.
But as I grew up, black replaced blue. And tees replaced shirts.
And every t-shirt I bought online was either black or a dark shade of blue/grey. I wasnāt doing it intentionally. It was just that the most attractive designs were on black tees.
I paired them with a colorful watch. I had a few with black dials but bright bandsā¦ white, sky, orange, greenā¦ they looked fancy.
I admit colours are attractive, I wear them from time to time, but I don't always feel like donning a colour.
Black is comforting. If I could, Iāll be in black every day. I donāt know why. It is because it is.
Maybe because things are dull now. Doesn't matter how amiable, welcoming, good-humoured I seem; inside, itās all dark. Everythingās dull beneath this upper jovvy layer.
Oh, last week, when I was watching Dear Zindagi, casually cruising past, a quote caught my ear:
āTum agar khul ke ro nahi sakoge, toh khul kar hass kaise paoge.ā (If you canāt cry out loudly, how can you be happy freely.)
That sounds like the reason. Nothing seems exciting to me and nothing is excruciating. Living in a closed corner.
And now that Iām writing this, I know why I wrote, āI feel like just being in the black.ā Itās this feeling of being in a deep dark dungeon, knowing nowhere to go.
It is this feeling I want to avoid actually that puts me into working mode. Freelancing, reading, watching movies, bloggingā¦ always working, always busy, occupied.
And the less I feel, the more Iām workingā¦ for nothing. Itās a cold-blood cycle.
Should I pause? For what? To live? How long will I live? 20 more years, maybe.
And if I don't pause being a workaholic, only the next 10 years. So what? Whether I die at 53 or 83, whatās the difference? Why do we need to keep our lineage alive?
Why did life even crop up? Why was the earth born; big bang or whatever way? And why even the universe exists?
Snap! I should stop now.
Will take your leave. Let me know if you have the answers. Iām looking forward to some drama.
Bidding adieu.
Live long and prosper.
See you next week, with another story.