Being One

Life runs such a weird course. It is steady and sparkling one moment, lost among hazy mists of the past in the next and reaching out to a honest future in the one after that. As a series of what-ifs and why-nots fight for space in the confines of one's warped mind, life seems to go on, popping like an unending sheet of bubble wrap.

It is so simple to feel sad for oneself. Suddenly, one bumps into someone in the long queue at the bank counter, who informs one that one's very first serious crush is getting married. It's at times like these that life seems so... not meant for one. Like one is here quite by accident, and that one's dreams are constantly trespassing on reality - to-be-shot-down-at-sight. Then one sees someone else living a life one dreams of, and one sinks deeper into quicksand.

It is a little bit harder to feel happy for someone else. Like for first-serious-crush. One feels happy for her when one remembers that she was a nice person to have known, and that she should get all the happiness she can get. It was not long ago that someone asked one about being over one's obsession. One thinks getting over is more of thinking about obsession in a different way - like accepting another version of reality. It is hard, and sometimes near impossible to pull off but mostly one is calm outside, and rarely inside when obsession is concerned. More confused actually. But that stems from one's insecurity of being left with nothing to obsess about, more than anything else.

It is the hardest to feel happy for oneself. To keep remembering that one is living a life forged by one's choices, doing something one chose to do. To constantly remind oneself that being able to live one's choice is and always will be a BIG luxury. One sees other people being happy about other things, like money and love. And one forgets the things one has to be happy about. One broods over why one's choice, though one's own, is devoid of money and love (among other things). One sees the promise of a bright future, and one is scared to death at the prospect of treading that future alone. One does not remember all the work one did to get that future, and that one's dreams are just beginning to melt into reality.

One is afraid. One has no one to talk to, endlessly and about everything. One has no one to whom one can speak to, without first thinking what one is going to say. One keeps searching. One does not know for what. One is sure it will happen one day. One does not know when. One's faith is being tested. One's faith tends to waiver, and to doubt One. One thinks of dying, and of not being there one day. One finds comfort in being mortal. One suddenly finds one is short of time. One hurries. One cannot keep this up much longer.

One is after all, only one.