Life is a paradox. At least mine is. It has been polarized into these two extremes of nothingness and everything. There are no middle grounds for me. No grey areas. There are just patches of black and white illusions that I have created for myself. I like to believe so because it gives me a false sense of consciousness of being productive or useful. Lately, this analogy has overshadowed by life. The picture has never been this clear. It is as if my mind created the analogy for this very moment.
(Excuse my lame attempt to sound intellectual. You will now notice a drastic drop in standard in the next paragraph)
There are these days when I am so busy that I don’t have the time to look at myself in the mirror and admire my beauty (?!). This is the black area. I am so occupied with work that I start to believe that I am more than a mere entity who just eats and…poops (drop, see?). During this span of time, I am more than just a wasted space on earth. More than just a meat wrap.
Then there are these days when I have ample of free time at my disposal. So much so that I stare at myself in the mirror for such a long period that I get disgusted with my own face (frankly, I know a lot of people who get disgusted by my face in a split second, but let’s not get there). This is the white area. Another extreme of my existence.
I am now in the latter stage of my existence. Fortunately.
Why fortunately, you ask.
This is the period where I can coop up under the blanket, lock my room and pretend that the world does not exist. The universe collapses, the earth stops rotating and my mother stops shouting at me (okay, I am exaggerating now). Of course, I share my bed, keep company and am never alone.
My laptop is always there with me.
But there exists a dark side. So there is something atrociously bad to this phase which induces tremendous amount of anxiety in me. These are the occasional times when you are forced to get out of your amazingly gorgeous illusional world and face the not-so-gorgeous real one. No matter how hard you try to convince yourself that it’s okay to let go of the fantasies and imagination and face the reality with courage, it’s kind of difficult. This sad phenomenon is called ‘socializing’. When you HAVE to go out and try to talk to people.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I am all for small talks….and a few lies here and there. But smalls talks are not really my forte.
In Clifton Chronicles, Harry Clifton had doubts regarding his parentage. I have doubts whether the non-veg food served at various restaurants halal or not. My mother has doubts about my mental stability and so on. Point being that humans are skeptical about a lot of things. Thus, I have the following doubts about making small talks:
1. I am not really sure how small should the ‘small’ talks be.
2. If I met you once at the beginning of the gathering and had a decent conversation, then am I to initiate another conversation if I see you again?
3. What more question can I ask apart from:
“Hi! How are you?”
4. I am a pro at a lot of things (duh!), but remembering names ain’t one of them. What if we are talking, but we are too deep into the conversation for me to ask your name?
5. What if I really really dislike you?
(If you are a human then chances are that I do)
Given my predicament, I have no shame in admitting that I absolutely begrudge those that feel confident when meeting new or old faces and can communicate well with them. I mean, I have met a lot people who walk into the room and demand that others pay attention to them and rightly so, they do deserve it. But I am more like the kind who when enters a room looks for the corner and sits unobtrusively praying to god that no one comes up to her to talk.
Also, last time when I was left alone to talk to someone I hardly knew, this is how the conversation went:
She- Hey! How are you?
Me- I am doing great. What about you?
She- I am fine!
Me- Soooo…what’s your name?