This week felt like bathing in a spectrum of emotions – every day was different: a new theme, different weather, a different mood. I had three exams this week and all of them went well. I have my last exam (Psychology) on Tuesday, and then I’ll be free to do whatever I want to do – which mostly includes writing and editing my stories – for two weeks before the new sessions begins and I’ll dive headfirst into endless texts and exams until April end next year. Sounds exhausting, and I haven’t even started yet.
The loneliness came back again, and I think this was the first time this year that I cried, not just because of the loneliness but because of any reason at all. I remember that I’d promised myself at the beginning of last year that I won’t cry, but losing a best friend and constant quarrels among the adults of the family to the point of moving out, it was hard not to cry. The year before that had been like that too, though the reasons had been different. I don’t remember making any such promise to myself at the beginning of this year – I did not see the need to and I hadn’t anticipated that there would be anything that would make me cry, because I was only looking forward to the good stuff. I’m still looking forward to it, but I’m now not forgetting that sometimes my own emotions can be unpredictable. The loneliness hits without warning. I sometimes feel grateful that it is not perpetual, but then, I don’t even like it surprising me randomly. I enjoy being perfectly alone as long as I have a book or a computer with internet or music. In fact, at times I want to be alone. But then that’s different from loneliness.
I think I’m living so much in the anticipation of the future, of being closer to my goals that I might be missing out on living in the present, but when I do notice my surroundings, everyone is busy with their lives on their phones, the weather feels good but the pollution is as stubborn as ever and I become aware of how lonely I am. My Psychology teacher told me to keep myself busy to avoid such thoughts, so I do just that. And honestly, doing work feels much better than sitting and contemplating the lack of emotional comfort in my life, the absence of someone I could call a best friend. It’s not taking me anywhere at all.
I also spent quite some time being worried about myself yesterday. I’m perfectly healthy and doing okay and everything. It was more to do with how I feel about myself. I’ve had times when I was very conscious about my looks and my body, but I got over it by telling myself that looks don’t matter and that someday I’ll be able to get rid of the little extra fat that I have. From the very beginning I’ve never had any interest in make-up of any kind – eyeliners, lipsticks, etc. I don’t know why but I was never attracted to cosmetics, while my sister loves it so much that we have to scold her – she’s only ten. I’ve spent all of my teenage life watching girls my age – cousins and friends and classmates and strangers proudly put on make up and take their pictures and post them online. I was and still am so disinterested in these things that I feel uncomfortable and out of place when I’m with them. As if perhaps I’m not taking proper care of myself. I spent so much of my time yesterday thinking if that made me unlikable, and there went another long entry into my diary. But by the time I put it back on shelf, I was able to tell myself that everyone had their own interests – I had music and books and writing, and that not doing what everyone else was doing did not make me any more or less likable. I’ve in fact started liking how I look in glasses, and although when I’d first got them I imagined getting rid of them in the future, now I don’t like the idea that much. I like the change.
As an introvert (I thought I was an extrovert, but it turns out that’s not so), writing feels hugely liberating, and sharing it here even more so, for reasons I don’t understand. I figure things out by writing them down, and things that loomed large like a mountain seem completely trivial. I’m so glad I listened to my mother when she told me five years ago that I should be a writer. She literally saved my life. (I’d written a better conclusion but it got deleted, so I guess we’ll have to do with this one.)
How was your week? I hope it was a good one, and if not, then I hope the next week makes up for it.
Words have energy and power with the ability to help, to heal, to hinder, to hurt, to harm, to humiliate, and to humble. – Yehuda Berg