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and this :

SnailsDay 1.5 – Santorini, Greece 2nd July, 2017

Alright now that the reading is done, I’ve some things to say about the things that you read in the title of this blogpost and some things that I found very relatable in both of these posts/experiences. I didn’t comment on the facebook post and wordpress blog post because well I’ve stayed alone for most of the time since I’ve come of age (did I use that wrongly?). I meant when I went out of the home after 10th grade to study. I’ve been alone mostly, learnt alone. So I thought it wouldn’t matter if I posted, it would just be read and forgotten, unless something very unlikely happened and I get to meet these two people and get to know them for long. I’ve been reading them since I’ve sent them friend requests, their poems, endeavours, listened to their voices as much as I could read. That is the background done, now I start my rant.

When you have holes in underwear, and if you have a penis, there are a lot of things you have to bear. Sometimes your balls will be out in a jiffy, sometimes the whole cannon. And when you’ll be getting the underwear off the next day (or whatever day/night), you’ll wonder if you really do not have money to buy new undies or are you just being lazy. If you are like me, you just have one concern: to wear them only when needed the most: under jeans, which I avoid wearing as much as I can, but sometimes I have to give in to mothers’ wishes to not always see me in my shorts. It’s very repulsive for her to see me badly dressed all the time. Her favorite example to make me realise that is by

Would you like it if I wore this same shirt, all the time?!

If I ever say yes, a strong stare in the eye would anyway render me speechless. People with stark feminine traits (I’m one of them) get emotional very quickly. So I avoid such head on collisions and change with a sigh (that sigh has to be mental, if it’s physical and you get seen, then it’s the same story different tools).

I don’t know much about my lineage, just that it’s been a unknown while since any of us were wealthy both money wise as well as knowledgeably know-wise. Like Diksha notes in her slam poem, it’s difficult in a middle class family with no former heros or ideals to look upto when you’ve set your sail of life, career in particular. For example right now, I’ve to constantly keep weighing between:

Do I get a job as soon and skilfully as possible (because parents wouldn’t have any money left after educating me other than their pensions), or should I tread on the same path that I’m: to figure things out, sometimes of my own, sometimes with the help of others, but figuring out nonetheless. Thankfully until now my parents have been very supportive of this latter choice and privilege, which I’ll admit, I haven’t properly used (and in a sense of wasting time, abused actually).

But at this point of time, it’s a wrapper. I have to find, in a limited amount of time, something that I’d like to invest my time learning and be skilful at, which also has to be in alignment of the things that I have to figure out, like life. It’s tough. Ah! It’s tough.

Parents are hard, they are. And in this time of the lifetime, when I’ve been feeling for so long that I haven’t been in contact with a person my age to converse with, living with family, trying to fulfil some duties, responsibilities, and at other times, that is when I still had them, being alone, being afraid of sorts to talk to people, it gets to me, living with parents, relatives. There are so many things that a generation gap, demarcates, it’s hard to find language to convey some things sometimes. It’s tough. It is. I will write more about it, if it finds more words, like Nandita’s did. But both of these people have laid so many words I would have never exactly found, so I’m glad both of them wrote what they did.

Love things that I wanted to write about are more complex than I thought, and I do no fully understand to be honest. It would take time for words to reach even the writing of the confused state of what I have in mind, so I’ll refrain from writing it.