Monthly Archives: January 2013

A Happy “Realization’ Birthday!

Not so many days ago, it was my birthday. It was a Wednesday, so school couldn’t be ignored. Plus, I also had an examination ahead of me on my birthday.

The routine that day was no different.

Woke up early, got ready for school, and went to school. 

I tend to wake up before anyone else in my house. My parents were still sound asleep when I left the house. Though, you’d think that they’d wake up a little early just to…well, maybe wish me Happy Birthday?

But I didn’t mind. I was used to it by now.

With school, came a huge wave of greetings and candy and lots of delicious food. Among all this, I forgot about that disappointing morning yet again. When I got back home, I had my  best friend over to celebrate. She somehow managed to make my birthday the best birthday I ever had. Everything went great, till she had to go home.

It was around 8 in the evening, me and my dad went to drop her off. On our way back, I waited desperately for a Happy Birthday. He didn’t utter a single word. Silence was piercing through my ears. I was angry, I was sad and I wanted to rip someone’s beating heart out (Not in literal sense, though.)

My mother had already wished me in the afternoon from work.

But I waited for my father. I was sitting next to him, for 30 minutes and he did not wish me or even talk about something else. I tried initiating the conversation, but he’s just simply answer my questions and then go back to being mute.

I realized that it wasn’t worth me feeling sad. It wasn’t worth me spending the rest of my birthday thinking, “My father didn’t wish me on my birthday.”

I should’ve learnt my lesson long ago when a gold medal in English Olympiad couldn’t make him smile at me.

I thought to myself, “Keep your cool. Eventually, it’ll stop hurting.”

It didn’t.

That throbbing pain in my gut came back to life the very next day.

A friend of mine was talking about missing her father, as he lives in a different country. She talked about how her father used to take her to the ice-cream parlor every weekend. How the doughnut shop was their favorite place in the world. How in winters, she used to snuggle up next to her dad because she felt warm with him. After her, some more friends started telling stories about them with their fathers. Gradually, they looked at me.

“What about you? Tell us one about you and your father.” They asked.

“Oh…um, Okay. Once me and my dad went to this amusement park…” I started making the whole story up. I tried really hard to remember one, but failed again and again.

Later that day, I thought about it and I reached a conclusion.

So what if he didn’t wish me? So what if we don’t have one memory together that I can cherish? I don’t care anymore. Because I’m better than him. If I go up to him and argue with him then there’ll be no difference between the two of us. I’m nothing like my father. I’m a better person than him. I’m a better human being than him.

If I keep on sulking, the only one its going to affect is me. No one else will face its effect. Its going to be my eyes which are swollen, it’ll be my head which is pounding and it’ll be my heart which is breaking. No one else’s.

If I don’t stop caring, I’ll end up being one of those girls with “Daddy issues.”

I’m not that girl. I won’t ever be that girl.

I’m going to live my life to its fullest. I’ll have no one blame if sometimes, things go wrong. But I also won’t have to give its credit, if I end up doing something amazing.

Its always going to be me, myself and I.Image

Am I doing this right?

I have been reading blogs for a while now. After reading them all, I read mine. My heart sinks into the ground and I think, “Oh, crap. Why am I making these people read my blog? They’re so much better than the stuff that I write.”

I used to think that I am good at writing. I’m starting to doubt that fact. I don’t use heavy words which normal public can’t understand, I don’t use beautiful lines or things like that. I used to think that I can write. Like, actually write-write. But there are so many people out there who are far more talented in this area than I am. Its their realm. I feel like an intruder spoiling the image of writers and literature. Is it okay if I’m intimated by the people who write better than me? 

Am I a good writer?

Anyone who’s reading…can you please tell me? (Though I know there’s only one person who reads what I write.) Criticism is more than welcome. Like I said, I won’t miss a chance to improve. Someone just has to tell me what I’m doing wrong and what I’m doing right.

Please. And because I  don’t know who you are and you’re not friends with me already, it’ll make me feel assured that what you’re saying is true.

Thanks.

Most nights…I don’t know.

Okay, this might get a little personal. But I think that its better I let it out here instead of chirp about my problems to someone else. Even if I did, I’m not sure anyone will understand.

I go to bed every night and I’m wide awake even after an hour. All I can think about is; what will happen when I graduate High School? Go to college? Where? Study what? I want to adapt a new profession every day. I’m a history freak, I’m in love with symbolism and I could live in a library.

But here I am, studying Finance. Getting just enough grades in Accountancy and living in the shadow of my best friend. And the only thing stopping me from dropping everything and switching to Humanities is my mother. Because according to her, “Girls who take humanities do B.A. and then get married.” No matter how hard I try to make her understand that this is about what I want…she just doesn’t get it. And I don’t want to be the ‘Bad kid’ who does exactly the opposite of what she’s told. I want to make her proud of me, but because of something that I did with my wish, not something which I did on their wish.

Sometimes, the path couldn’t have been more clearer. Its as simple as; Graduate High School  get scholarship in a foreign university, come back, give the exam for Indian Foreign Services, and with a job, do M.B.A. But HOW???

How the hell am I supposed to get a scholarship in a foreign university? I’m not a 10/10 student.

Every year, 100,000 people apply for I.F.S. out of which, 100 get selected. What me makes me so special that its certain that I will become an I.F.S. officer?

If it were History, I could’ve written on a stamp-paper and then signed on it saying, I will be the topper. But with Finance, I get more competitors. And I’m not scared of competition. But whats not there in them that is in me? What makes me stand out from the crowd.

So far, nothing.

I’m still the “Other Girl” who’s best friends with the prefect.I’m still a nobody. And when my tube light lightened, it turns out I’m almost out of time. This year will end in February and new session will begin in March. I will be in 12th. I’ll have my boards and absolutely no time to make myself stand out. Maybe if I just had enough brains to be a complete geek, at least it could’ve guaranteed me my face in the newspaper along with other geeks who topped 12th standard. But I’m average in that case, too.

I’m tired of being faceless. I’m tired of not being recognized for what I do. And I’m sick of not being able to show what I can do. There are some things that I can do better than most of the prefects. I can write better than them, I can speak louder and clearer than them. Hell, I can speak English better than them all. Yes, I’m cocky about that fact. Because my writing and my English are the only things which are keeping me sane. 

But, no! Why will teachers pick students who aren’t prefects or are not known by them? A dog didn’t bite them. And they are blinded by all the ass-kissing they get from their favorite students. I ain’t kissing no ass. They want tp pick me because of what I can do, then good. But if they expect me to be that typical buttering wanna-be, then they’re better off trying to freeze hell.

You know what? Screw it!

I’ll become a writer. And I don’t give a damn about what anybody thinks. My mother can go after my brother making him do what she wants. Because I ain’t it. I’m going to go after becoming a writer after BBA. She can be a part of my happiness or she can’t. As far as being faceless is concerned…I’ll earn my name by actually doing something which I want to.