How easy it is to dream, when one is young, isn't it? To conjure up colorful worlds of reckless abandon, while sitting in classrooms as the teacher drones on about some irrelevant Mathematical theorem? The possibilities seem endless, the best years are all up ahead. Everything seems believable; success actually seems achievable. Nobel Prizes to the Bookers, Oscars to the Grammys, everything, we're taught to believe, is as likely to become ours as the next person's. The best relationships as well as the severest heartbreaks are yet to come, the first bank accounts yet to be opened, the promise of the first kiss lingers on the horizon, or rather, on the opposite end of the classroom, where the attractive batchmate sits, looking equally lost. The driving licences, the college-years, the many parties, the voting rights - everything is impending.
And then suddenly, you're a grown up, and the best of all the years have passed you by ! Now, every dream has to be carefully weighed out with scales of realism. The economy is shrinking, the jobs are like bad jokes life played with you, and forget being a millionaire at twenty-five, you're hardly making enough to pay your rents. The clogged drainage in the bathroom doesn't get automatically cleaned out by the domestic help- you have to pick up the semi-eaten morsels out of the kitchen sink with your own hands. The parents are growing old, and now look at you with quiet eyes, that never for once reveal their desire to be taken care of, for fear of damaging your dreams, of impairing your wings. The stench of eternal mediocrity, that you could easily ignore before, now seems to be your constant, albeit unwanted, companion, someone you are now realizing you need to make peace with. The bills keep piling up, the finances need to be kept tab of. You drive, not out of adventure, but out of necessity, and your votes are capable of only bringing douchebags to power, for they seem to be the only options. The first relationship, and many more after that, whizzed past you before you even knew what was happening. The many wrong turns you took, the mean words you said, the many hearts you broke, and the many people who broke yours, linger on as haunting blemishes on the life you were dreaming to build solely out of coruscating successes, and universal acclaim and love.
~ C'est la vie ~
And then suddenly, you're a grown up, and the best of all the years have passed you by ! Now, every dream has to be carefully weighed out with scales of realism. The economy is shrinking, the jobs are like bad jokes life played with you, and forget being a millionaire at twenty-five, you're hardly making enough to pay your rents. The clogged drainage in the bathroom doesn't get automatically cleaned out by the domestic help- you have to pick up the semi-eaten morsels out of the kitchen sink with your own hands. The parents are growing old, and now look at you with quiet eyes, that never for once reveal their desire to be taken care of, for fear of damaging your dreams, of impairing your wings. The stench of eternal mediocrity, that you could easily ignore before, now seems to be your constant, albeit unwanted, companion, someone you are now realizing you need to make peace with. The bills keep piling up, the finances need to be kept tab of. You drive, not out of adventure, but out of necessity, and your votes are capable of only bringing douchebags to power, for they seem to be the only options. The first relationship, and many more after that, whizzed past you before you even knew what was happening. The many wrong turns you took, the mean words you said, the many hearts you broke, and the many people who broke yours, linger on as haunting blemishes on the life you were dreaming to build solely out of coruscating successes, and universal acclaim and love.
~ C'est la vie ~
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