I used to ponder over this question a lot while growing up. The problem was not that I didn’t know. The problem was that I knew too well. I’ve known from the time I was 13 that writing was all I really wanted to do. Even as mum tried to get me to pursue a degree in fine art and papa piled brochures of economics and MBA classes on my writing table, I always just knew.
I thought I’d stop asking myself the question after I landed my first job. It would be ridiculous not to, right? Because I’d managed to battle my way into the industry I’d wanted to be a part of. Small victory, but it mattered. And yet, the questions didn’t stop. Instead, their decibel levels just became higher.
Today, the sound of that question is deafening.
Because suddenly, I don’t want any of the things I thought I wanted. Suddenly, the definitions all seemed to have changed.
I’ve often been told, by people who claim to understand me, that I’m a very emotional person. The definition always makes me uneasy, but I’ve learnt to live with it. Because deep down, buried beneath the niceties, I think I’m a rather cold-hearted person. Because I find it extremely easy to detach myself from people—friends, colleagues, boyfriends, lovers…
There comes a point in every relationship when you throw in the towel. Decide that this is it, the person is not worth my time, energy and investment anymore. For some people that point comes after being repeatedly hurt by someone, after giving the person one chance too many, forgiving the person one time too many… For me, that point comes when the person starts to bore me. Emotionally or intellectually. And I think I reach that point too quickly, too easily and, a lot of the times, too painlessly. It’s frightening when you can immediately disassociate from people and your feelings for them. Out of sight and out of mind. It really is that easy. Which is why the definition bothers me… because THIS is NOT what I wanted to be when I grew up.
I wanted to be a good writer, good daughter, good sister, good girlfriend and eventually, a good wife even. But recently I’ve learned that it’s not easy being all these things, when inside, all you really care about is yourself and what you want from life for yourself. Not what your parents dream about for you, not what you think are the right aspirations to have, and certainly not what you’ve been told is the path to a successful, happy life is.
When you’re in an all-girls school, it takes you a while to understand that not all guys are like the SRK from the movies. It takes a while before you find out that most guys, are, well, assholes, to resort to cliches. But before you catch on, you go through the process of pointless discussions Love, or at least your idiotic idea of what it supposedly feels like, is a big part of all these many dreams and discussions. I went through the routine as well. At 16, I was convinced that I would marry my then boyfriend, make babies with him and live happily ever after.
Somewhere down the road, those convictions lost their grip. And I don’t say that bitterly, because I’ve realised that those convictions were never really my own. These were just the done things to want, to aspire to. Which is why, by the time I found out what really I wanted to be when I grow up, the question began to worry, and even scare me a little. Because the answer was not something that I expected.
I’ve been in a lot of semi-relationships. Lots of people meant lots of breakups. Predictably, at first it hurt terribly and I thought I’d never get over it. But then I learnt to be circumspect. I realised that I was only hurt because the person had taken away my idea of what a relationship should be like. I understood that the hurt was only about my ego, about the self-absorbed belief that every person I’m with should love me, that the universe owed me that. But most of us don’t understand that love isn’t an inalienable right, that it’s perfectly normal to go through life without ever truly being ‘in love’ with someone. And without having someone be ‘in love’ with us.
The fuckup happens when what you don’t have begins to completely eclipse what you do. How many of us can truly, and without a flicker of doubt, put love above all other things in life? I know I can’t. I’ve realised that unlike my mum, I couldn’t care less about finding the guy who I could make a marriage work with, that unlike my sister, I didn’t want a man who can take care of me, and unlike many of my friends, I couldn’t care less about signing and sealing the deal. I don’t care about the three big Ms in a single girl’s life: marriage, monogamy and money. The order might be interchangeable, but eventually, it generally boils down to this.
The things is, I like the rustle of money, but only when I’ve made it myself. I like the feel of power, but only when it’s mine. And I like being in love, but only when it’s convenient. This is NOT what I thought I’d be like when I grow up. I didn’t think running my show would matter so much to me, I didn’t know it would be so easy for me to dismiss people so completely and I definitely didn’t think I would be such a single girl—in my head and my heart.
And then last week, an out-of-the-blue conversation with a dear friend made me realise that self-discovery shouldn’t bother me so much. Because so what if the world taught you to live, speak and want a certain kind of things, so what if you now want the things you never thought of before, at least now you know what was going to make you happy. Imagine following dreams that were never yours. Imagine the crushing disappointment when you realise that after all the tradeoffs and tax deductions, you’re still nowhere close to finding fulfilment.
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