It strikes me sometimes, on days I'm melancholic. or when the godforsaken PMS strikes. Spare time to myself isn't a good thing. I just sit there spaced out, letting the coffee getting cold with thoughts that turn me into waterworks.
I think the most about what I've lost. Ever since the idea of 'losing' meant anything more concrete that games and play, I have made a subconscious list of things I've lost. A beloved basketball. My first Fountain pen. My favorite shoes that I grew out of. My favorite Tee mum threw away because it had too many holes to make darning look possible. My first walk man. My favorite cassette tapes. Every time I lost something I valued too much, I cried. Threw a tantrum. Sulked. Because life would just not be the same without it. It would be un-livable. It would be agonizing.
Its cathartic, this sense of loss. It purges you of attachments that were growing too deep. It helps you mend holes in your soul, the ones you weren't aware of. The holes develop all the time. The gravity with which they pull you down into an abyss of despair is another thing entirely.
Of all the things I've lost, I miss my innocence/naivete the most. The popular thing to say is mind, yeah. But i still have a lot of it. I can't really own up to losing it. In 50 years or so, but not yet. Innocence is irretrievable. the sense of wonder at everything the world threw at me, the joy of new information, the unfeigned surprise of childhood dreams coming true. That's what I miss. I wish I could look at something, and be wonderfully surprised by its enigmatic charm, however mundane the thing maybe. Its not that I'm un-surprisable now. Its just that I'm worldlier. I don't dare to show my wonderment, for the ever growing fear of ridicule and pointed glances that make people wonder if I'm hysterical. I cover my surprise, my wonder with a worldly air of well effected disdain. A So-what-its-not-such-a-big-deal reaction.
Thats a hindrance of adulthood. That's a hindrance of worldliness. When I see children, My heart cries out to them, don't grow up so fast. Enjoy this time when a thing as simple as a higher push on the swing can make you shriek with delight. I miss that unfettered delight. I regret growing up. I regret being an adult. But only on days I'm melancholic.
Because when I was doing all the growing up, I learnt a lesson. We have to lose things in order to gain others. See, its like we have one, just one notebook. A very thin one at that. For stationary we have pencils, erasers and pens. Its up-to me what I write in my notebook, and its my choice to write with a pen or pencil it in. When I look back, I see a haphazard pattern, pencil n pen, different colors for different matters. But all there, in my thin little notebook. I let go of some, in order fit some in. So, really, its an art. How to lose something. Or how to turn what you lost into something you gained. Depends what you're writing with.
