Being

 It’s hard to cope. Sometimes it feels like this existence of mine is not even a singular existence. I have morphed so much that I can’t even recognise myself sometimes. Do I still like dal chawal or have a dry sarcastic humour? Yes sure, but these are just the toppings of a personality - the ingredient of me seems to be all muddled up now. I can’t even decide if I am an introvert anymore ! I have pushed myself so much that I can’t seem to figure out it if I’m still the underdog or the Goliath these days. Old acquaintances after meeting me exclaim that looking at me takes them back 10 years as I don’t seem to age a day but ironically I can’t even relate to myself anymore.

I am sick of seeing people go overboard with patting themselves on their backs - congratulating themselves for almost anything they can come up really, how can people base their personalities on things as moronic as say being a blabbermouth or being selfish or true story - being a stupid hijabi! I mean I get it, everyone’s a frigging Malala or Greta these days - lack of a personality does not a personality make dearies.

I’m surprised people are so quick to typecast themselves as “deep” or “ intellectual” or “ fun” or “YOLO” I mean you give one Iqbal book to a fool and suddenly they are a mystic - inversely a person watches some random movie and poof they are that character for the next 10 years!

Whatever happened to evolving or the concept of original thought? If there is one thing I would always yearn to be is uncharacterisable! There! And someone who always leaves a thought not well formulated because by God we have enough people ranting on about their “journey” and their stupid transformation with carefully worded speeches - I think I’m okay with being like this unedited and rambling and pointless random blog post. Go sell your paintings and self help crap somewhere else. I don’t want your closure.