"Life is simple, you make decisions and you never look back". This one may seem really hard to pull off for the sentimentals but this is where self-growth starts. You try to take over your life and steer it to wherever you like, may it be the way to self-destruction or self-aggrandizement. My life is one crazy ride, driven haphazardly and enjoyed enormously - which not to mean it is a 365-day circus, year in year out, at times I also get covered with clouds. This is when my sense of the absurd kicks in. The more I feel stressed out and troubled or just plain languorous, the more I indulge myself. So when you see me pigging out in a restaurant alone, its either I'm overwhelmed with problems or I'm celebrating something monumental. These moments are so sacred I want to devoutly savor every nanosecond of it without the distractions of others. I am vampirical. I feast on my own pain.
When I am down, I don’t blurt it out. I believe that we are all the walking wounded, my pain is no worse than yours. Save yourself from the inconvenience of pulling those I-Feel-Sorry-For-You-I-Know-How-It-Feels face. You wouldn’t hear me keen my own troubles, and besides, you are nowhere near to getting known how it feels. You are not me.
I pick myself up, dust off and walk on. What else is there to do?
When you want to talk about your troubles (applicable only to my friends), say it. But be posted. I am not the type who tells only what you want to hear, I don’t dish out false hopes and give cloudy assurances. Brace yourself and hear me lash out the truth. These are the moments when emotions only impede and blur the truth, so you go and listen to my cold, objective judgment. I don’t care if it’s gonna be like a Saline solution on an open wound. You're my friend. And I'll bang your head and shake some sense into you. When you feel like crying, here's my shoulder. Just don’t put any snot on my shirt.
When you see me walking alone, the last thing I wanna evoke is your sense of pity. Believe me, I may have this 'forlorn' look written all over my face and a particular gauche way, but I’m not as aggrieved as I appear. I’m enjoying the moment. I just don’t talk much, because my mind is too busy processing all the data I gather from my outside world. I'm taciturn but respect my silence, for this is when my mind is gauging your personality, your sincerity and YOU. When I throw you a compliment, believe it. I don’t flatter, it will get me nowhere. And if you doubt my judgment or think I am just buttering you up, then I start to see you as a real Loser. You will never hear me say the compliment again. People who play themselves down radiate an aura of negativity and this is when my admiration turns into pity - pity for your poor self-worth and image. I’m not asking you to bask in the light of my admiration, just take it, believe and walk tall, you don’t have to scratch my back. I can manage that myself.
I invest on my mind. I feel unfairly treated when there's no new book on my bedside. I feel left out and dumb. There's just so much to learn. Nothing more sonorously announces a scintillating mind than a love affair with books. If I know you read, I feel a sense of attachment. Accept my respect. I love smart talk, speak your mind, not others, no matter how good your diction is, it will still sound premeditated and insincere. I love witty riposte but when you throw wisecracks every 5 seconds, you don’t need me, you need a stage, a microphone and some Drag Queens as back ups. I will not fall victim to your 'out-pompousing' stint. Go and hear yourself talk.
When I'm reading and someone approaches me, I drop my book and chat up. My credo is “Humans over Books". I will not shoo you away like a disapproving old hag, but when you cheese me off and you start hearing me answer in monosyllabic words (in worse cases, a nod and a grunt), be humane enough to leave me with my book. My masochism has its limitation. Remember prosaic is not an anti-depressant drug.
I don’t choose friends, I’ve dined out with ‘multi-millionaires’ and successfuls, but at the end of the day, they are all just hardworking freaks who scrimp on themselves to save up and dress up in fancy and extortionate clothes not for their sense of well-being but to impress other people. They are slave-driven by commercialism, that must be awfully tiring.. I enjoy time with our school's security guard and our school cafeteria's manangs much as I enjoy with showbiz personalities (even the word 'personalities' doesn’t ring true all the time, they just take a lot of looking after themselves, pardon me for the parentheticals). This is how I stratify my friends:
Outer circle: They are my nodding acquaintances, a simple nod and a sincere 'What have you been doing?' or "It's been ages!" and a minute or so of catching up to each other's lives.
Middle Circle: My drinking buddies, block mates, the recipients of my friendly banters, and sometimes off-colour humour. They occasionally see the loony part of me.
Inner Circle: My confidantes, they know me inside out, one time or another, I have vomited up my soul in front of them, and they are the 'indispensables'.
