Once again this morning I was faced with what seems to be the bane of every girl’s existence- what should I wear today? I decided it was time to shop as all that I owned was probably last century. Not one to follow tiny ripples in the stream of fashion, I dragged one of my fashion-slave-friends along. She went on about how this was all the rage right now and how that was sooooo IN!!!!!!! By the end of the day I decided to go back to my basic grey denim capris and black top.
None of the clothes I’d seen had suited my individual style at all. That’s when my blatant idiocy struck me like a water balloon. I was looking for my unique taste in the very clothes which practically everyone was going crazy over… I can see where I had trouble. But then again don’t we do this with life too? We try and please everyone by doing what they like and expect personal happiness at the same time. This is why we’re so confused, with the world and within ourselves. We’re trying to gain acceptance from our peers, become the pride of our parents and conform to the norms of society, all the while wanting to leave a mark, make a distinct impression in the sands of time, full of footprints.
The reason we teens are misunderstood today, and always, is because of all this self-contradiction, all this internal conflict. We cry when we are alone, abuse our minds and bodies, all for some respite. We worry, we dramatize, we rant and we weep. If only we knew what we wanted out of ourselves, there would be no need for all of this. But if we did know what we wanted, we wouldn’t be human now, would we?
“Oh, why d’yu havta go n make things so complicated
I see the way ur actin’ like ur somebody else gets me frustrated
Life’s like this you
N you fall n u crawl n you break n you take whatcha get
And turn it into
Honesty and promise me I’m never gonna find you fake it…no, no, no…”
-Complicated, Avril Lavigne
I knew of a professor of English Literature who used to wash dishes to vent frustration. She had told us that she imagined each plate, bowl, spoon to be a face of one of the myriad mischief-makers of the class. And when she explained the poem, Two Tramps in Mud Time by Robert Frost, to us, I realized that my habit of releasing pent up emotions on the last pages of my notebook wasn't exactly without reason. The poem begins with a man chopping wood to destress, I knew then that the pen was my axe. Over time this pen has turned into the keyboard of a Compaq Presario M2000 and my notebook into, well, still a notebook but a digital one. Everytime i have a particularly gratitude-worthy day or a moronically frustrating one I get myself some coffee and chocolate and let the juices flow. Everytime I learn from an especially stirring experience it's converted into a new page in my digital novel on life. The experience need not be a great loss like a death or a happiness like a new life into the world. I don't have them, not too often at least. What I mean by 'stirring' is slight turbulence in my equation with those around me. Sometimes the most subtle of things can teach you an invaluable truth which you failed to see while floating on clouds of happiness, your sight distorted by the mist that had settled on your judgement.
Blogging is free therapy...and with demands for psychiatric help skyrocketing, blogging is a relief to the economically challenged. Personally just writing down my troubles is such a weight off my head, it's like having spoken to Oprah about it. And the comments you get from anonymous well-wishers is another bonus. The "Blogopolitan" is a place where there's room for every intellectual, every moron, every terrorist and every zen aathma. 'Your opinions are your's and no one can change that' is the principle that the blogging world flourishes on.
Devdas drank himself to death to beat frustration, Hitler destroyed half the earth and Marilyn Monroe popped pills. I blog. Sweet addiction, isn't it.
Love sells. It’s as simple as that. If it didn’t we wouldn’t have so many jewelers selling diamonds on the anniversary gift concept. And guess what, it works! I mean I would never imagine a practical man like my father could buy my mom diamond earrings for their anniversary, but then again it was their 25th year and they love each other…so see what I mean, love sells because everyone seems to be so smitten by, well, love!
And now coming to Valentine’s Day, that fateful day in the middle of the shortest month, it can also be identified as the biggest brand for love, its byproducts being cards, gifts, and other moronic lil pink n red objects floating about like chaos (ref. to ancient Greece where it was believed that chaos was the mixed matter the Universe was made up of before the Big Bang).
Wait a minute, I hope you don’t think I’m another political party with an anti-love agenda, actually I’m quite mushy in my own right. What makes me queasy is the desperate search for a Valentine a week before Feb 14th. This has now resulted in a phenomenon known as “the friendly Valentine”. It starts with a Valentine‘less’ guy who just can’t seem to find a chick no matter how much Axe he sprays all day long. He then uses his devious mind to come up with a plan to save face- ask one of your best friends! They’ll never let you down. And even if they try to you can always say “yehi dosti, yehi pyaar???” Cheesy, I know, but works like a charm. Said best friend gets emotionally blackmailed and desperado has a date.
Another nauseating symptom of Valentine fever is overt displays of affection, a frantic search for the perfect gift with “to our eternal love” on the card. By the way, Webster’s just called, they’re changing the definition of eternal to “a time period equivalent to a month or in rare cases, a few more”.
Let’s get this straight, I don’t mean don’t celebrate your love or your “beautiful journey together”. All I mean is that when the axe falls on it, we shouldn’t find that the glue that held it all together was made of gift wrap paper and greeting cards. Valentine’s Day is not a competition for the best gift or the biggest bouquet. It’s a day to celebrate the fact that every time your special someone calls and that assigned ring tone rings, you feel that tingly feeling waking every part of you, or every time you walk together in the rain, you feel your senses coming alive. No corporate firm can package that and sell it to you in a box. The same way, you can’t buy love. So when are we going to stop trying?
