The blues
Hi everyone!
I was sitting by myself, minding my own business, right around the time food was served at 7. It wasn’t that I liked the mess food so much that I showed up early today. A lot of things were running through my head, and I wanted a few answers. I really want to spill it all out right now, but I don’t want to jump straight to a conclusion in the very first paragraph.
Usually, I sit alone and people eventually surround me. But this time, Sreshth came over to my table.
“What’s with the long face?”
“Uh, oh. Uhhh, it’s… it’s nothing, really.”
“Are you depressed or something?” he asked, breaking through my guard with a curious smile that reminded me of someone.
“Well, yeah buddy. Somehow.”
“Tell me about it. We are all basically dead in our minds anyway. Eat, wake up, sleep, classes. You should talk about it with your roommates.”
“Well, you know how it is. Our syllabus is as haphazard as it could possibly be. The way I used to study was predictable. I knew where my effort was going and what the end result would be. Here, I haven’t bought any books, haven’t read any, and studying feels like I’m trying to squeeze time out of an already packed schedule — even though it’s supposed to be the primary thing.”
“Not to mention the hours,” he added. “I felt like my head was spinning in anat class. We’re totally wasting time sitting in front of covered dead bodies. What could be worse?”
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“Yeah man. Talking to someone does help. Like, it really does.”
Over the past two weeks, I’ve had so many moments with people where I initially held back, but eventually opened up as naturally as I could. Having those meaningful conversations genuinely helped. Right now, I have friends here, but I still don’t feel them as family. People greet me and I greet them back, but none of them have seen how bad things can get for me — how utterly useless and incapable I can feel when it comes to taking care of myself. I miss my family, though that doesn’t change the fact that I came here willingly, wanting to build a new home. I can’t really complain much since it’s only been a few weeks, but I’ve finally started to realize how heavy it feels when you think no one is there to listen to your problems — or at least, no one is interested.
I’m the kind of guy who never felt ashamed to cry in front of people I know. When I cried, it came from the heart, and I needed that release. It’s hard playing the guy who always has it together and minds his own business. I needed people before to get out of dark places, and I’ll need them now too.
So the question remains: why am I putting on an appearance? Is this who I really am now, and is this how I’ll remain for the rest of these years?
It’s a question I don’t have an answer to right now. Life feels as dull as it gets, with very little room to experiment. In the last piece I posted on Medium, I was trying to figure out why seniors do what they do. I have an answer now, but after hearing so much from others, I can guarantee you that no sane person actually likes this system.
At this point, it’s rare to see seniors meddling with us, thanks to the authorities. But through this whole fiasco, I did learn a few things. So much of our identity gets tied up in trying to fit into different systems, all of which operate with hidden agendas to do good or harm in society. Different groups share common ideas, but none have absolute boundaries. What ultimately unites us all is the primal fear that has kept us alive long enough to evolve. We’ve dealt with things like lying to authorities for the sake of seniors — who feel like the most useless, bogus figures right now — and yet we still feel fine about it. It makes you question your own sanity and our judgement as a batch. Maybe only a few actually have the urge to comply, while the rest are just following like sheep.
Having cleared NEET, while being fully aware of the bhedchaal we were stepping into, this was probably to be expected.
There’s one more thing weighing on me. Beyond the questions I posed earlier, there are deeper reasons for this existential crisis. Who am I, and what am I doing? That remains unanswered, and not knowing is the hardest part.
I think I’m finally entering that world where everyone assumes the next guy is too busy to care or share anything. Everyone assumes the other person can’t handle hearing the messy, imperfect stories that shaped who we are today. Maybe everyone is just as confused as I am about who they’ve become after flipping their lives upside down. Maybe they’re just lazier, or scared to dig to the bottom of these things.
As I write this, I realize I’m just looking for someone who would sit and listen to everything I have to say for hours.
A friend of mine suggested using Notepad. Notepad it is, then.
