Of blogs, college and existential crises

So I sit down once again in front of a laptop, after almost two months, at my usual creative-hour of 1 am, tapping away at the keyboard, trying to form this post.

(That was just for dramatic effect; I’d both sat in front of my laptop at 1 am, and typed things on it, over May and June…. just not, you know, a blog post. Seriously, who’d go through two-months of laptoplessness in this day and age?)
To be brutally honest (with myself, mostly), I have no excuse. I mean, I did have several breakdowns and anxiety attacks with a few distinctly dotty tantrum-sessions thrown in for good measure, but those do not really matter in the great scheme of things, do they? In this universe as it unmakes and remakes itself, everything is ephemeral: fame, support, love, strangers’ encouraging engagement with a certain blogger’s posts, etc, and possessing full knowledge of this, as I did, nothing excuses my utter and complete absence from this blog over the past month. I am a worthless, lazy, nervous pile of trash and you have every right to be mad at me, dear reader. You have every right to have disappeared on me. You, in fact, have every right to have given up on me as well. But love is irrational, and I hope that semi-mathematical verbal cliché draws you back to my humble arms, into this strange virtual thought-bubble where you and I are strangers, and brothers, and travellers in the waiting room of life, catching up with a chat. I’ve got so much to get you caught up on!
I look back over the stormy month I spent, and, let me tell you, this college shit be STRESSFUL. I wasn’t kidding about the breakdowns. Do you know what it feels like to genuinely, truly believe that you will never get into any college and that your future is ruined and that you will never ever study the subject that you love and you will have disappointed everybody on the face of the earth that has ever had any sort of connection with you- most of all yourself? It SUCKS, is what it feels like. Like my stomach is this singularity that my body is collapsing in on and I am collapsing into non-being, which is to say everything, out of sheer grief and despair, every second of every minute of every day, for more than two MONTHS. If you are a traumatised 18 year old attending your first year of college, like me; if you went through this last year or anytime within the last decade, you have my commiserations, my friend: we have been comrades in the same battle. If you’re still in school, FREAKIN’ ENJOY IT WHILE IT LASTS BECAUSE: SPOILER WARNING, IT WILL END AND YOU WILL POSSIBLY BARELY SURVIVE (OR NOT).
You know I’m only saying this ‘cause I love you.
So there was that, and then there were the usual existential crises and pondering of philosophical questions at inappropriate moments and complete psychological disintegration as a result of that. For example, remember when Gabo died? Been a while, but you know? I saw the news articles, and like other sane people I ought to have just tsked and moved on, but of course that’s not what I did. Instead I sat and thought about what it is like to have millions to pay tribute to you, millions united across the world in the shadow of your love, of what you had to give to the world; millions loving you. And I said, I want to be that kind of writer, that The Paris Review and Shakira simultaneously love and mourn; that brings the unknown and the unknowing together in a combined feeling of loss, knowing that humankind lost someone today, someone who knew the universe and observed humanity, and lived to tell the tale. I want to be that person.
Of course, I ended up as a useless bag of nerves before I made any headway whatsoever on that quest, and just had another existential crisis all over again. I really like my daily dose of existential crises with some tea and biscuits, thank you very much.
And then don’t even get me started on the pain and slow, sinking horror I feel when I see abandoned social media accounts. I know this sounds really freaking stupid, but a lot of my friends deactivated or stopped using their Twitter accounts over this summer and I have experienced literally nothing worse in my long history of online interactions. Accounts that have been inactive for months or even years give me this terrible feeling, a deep, shrinking fear: like what one experiences while driving past a derelict house, windows yawning open, only to show darkness and decay and the horrible vacuum within. These accounts are not just outposts to live one’s life out on- they’re part of people’s identities. And when they’re left out in the open weather, rusting and creaking and leaking emptiness, there’s something so terribly sad about them: like people moving out of a long-inhabited, beloved house, leaving whispers of memories and past lives and the very scent of being alive, behind. When people see death near them, they experience their own mortality: when I see these accounts, I experience how everything, inevitably, moves on, on, on, in the endless diurnal march of universal eternity.
(Yeah, see. This is why I couldn’t write a blog post over the past month. I was too busy thinking about eternity and other bullshit that has nothing to do with my present life, as it is. Also, even more hearty apologies as I realise how unforgivable it was to leave my blog and Facebook page inactive for a month)
Anyway, so I did get into a college (Department of English at Jadavpur University of Kolkata) and I did make friends there and I do count myself blessed to have found them. I wrote a lot of things, I painted a bit, I met with a lot of friends and spent some actual quality time with them before they rushed off to make their brilliant careers at Delhi University and various sanctuaries of academia abroad, I did 100 Happy Days fairly regularly (I’m very proud of this!) and even managed to start writing a diary again- along with crossing 15 books off my to-read list on Goodreads. All in all, I admit that I did much better- much better- than I ever thought I would. Giving myself a pat on the back never felt more appropriate than now. I feel like maybe, just maybe… I did pretty good.
So, I’ll be back more regularly now- trying to aim for weekly blogging on Saturdays. No promises- we all know that if Dan Howell was the front-runner in an award for procrastination I’d beat the shit out of him any day. Plus college be cray cray, mon. So no promises- but I promise to try my absolute bestest. That sounds good, no? How about you? What were your summer holidays like? Let me know down below, and see you around next weekend!

(Oh god did you just lose any respect for me that you ever had)

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Damn, this good! I like the windows-yawning part the best. I don't think I can describe my summer holidays half as well as you did.

    P.S. umm…if you take out the existential crisis part out of your life, it'd be just like anybody else's, don't you think? I don't think you are like anybody else. My vote goes in the favor of existential crisis, sorry!


  2. Thank you! Ah, you only have to talk about them. They'll be deliciously interesting no matter how you write them- and we all know you write extremely well!
    I'm blushing, thank you (again) :3 The existential crises make it difficult for me to function on a daily basis, though xD


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