Looking from within
It can be fun to write something as if we are in the middle of a conversation (I am sure you have heard of it before) and that we have known each other for a very long time. Even though most of you are strangers to me, I need to be in such a state of mind to be able to write. I am not the same kid with the teenage angst ranting about random philosophical thoughts I had just skimmed off a stranger's writing. Having grown-up now (at least chronologically) one is expected to be more mature and stable when it comes to handling one's emotions. But I am not sure that the emotional ageing happens with the same velocity as the chronological one. People hate to be labelled these days, yet there are more labels than ever. Unsure of what had happened to me that lead to such a feeling of emptiness in myself, varying with time, making me disconnect from everything. There hasn't been any significant childhood trauma. My parents tried to give me everything to the best of their abilities. However, with increasing knowledge and passage of time comes the pain and a harrowing realization that perhaps nothing matters. I wonder if the blues are temporary or the permanent colour of the canvas, that is my life. It remains to be seen. The only thing that I do know is that the pain is real.