Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Why Am I So Blue?

Why am I vegetarian? What am i changing by this self-righteousness?
Why can't I let go of hate?
Why can't I let go of my inhibitions?
Why can I not make small talk?
Why am I so talentless and good-at-nothing?
Why am I typing out such angsty nonsense upon this midnight hour?
Why can I not be just what my parents want me to be? [nicegirl]
Why do I have to make anissue out of everything?
Why do I fantasise about impossioble things? [inheriting a huge mansion where i can keep and treat all the catsanddogsandgoatsandmonkeysandbirdsandfishandlionsandtigers]
Why can my parents not accept me for who I am?
Why is my father such a huge malechauvinistpig who refuses to let me be?
Why is my mother such a huge nagnagnag who refuses to let me be?
Why can I not get over Him?
Why do I pretend that I am not over Him though it's been years and years and I can barely remember anything about our time together?
Why is my memory so poor?
Why can I not just let go and jump right in the middle of the peanut-crunching, mall-hopping. pub-going crowd?
Why am I not sleeping around as much as I want to?
Why am I such a trademark lit.crit. student with constant self conscious allusions to everything from pop music to Sylvia Plath?
Why am I writing this when people this is intended for will never read this?
Why do I try to hide my trooly-deeply-madly romantic nature under a veneer of faux modernist cynicism?
Why do I read passages from any French text book I can lay my hands on no matter where I am aloud?
Why am I so full of self doubt?
Why do I lack confidence?
Why can I not decide whether I'm really a superficial talentless blustering twerp (as my parents think I am) or a misunderstood genius with a heart of gold (as I like to think of myself)?
Why does it become 'suicide' when I contemplate it and 'death-wish' when Keats writes soppy poems about it?
Why am I directing veiled threats at the (indifferent)world at large?
Why amk I lazy?
Why can I not decide whether I am lazy or whether I simply lack any kind of motivation? (like praise or appreciation, for eg)
Why do I make a constipated intellectual face in reading/listening to inane lines which are actually aphorisms which are nice sounding and hollowed out of meaning? (for eg: "sukher thekeo hajar gune, dukkho onek bhalo") [shaaaala, jeno tragedy-r class!]
Why can I not accept my own mediocrity?
Why do I think that in referring to myself as mediocre I am actually becoming humility-personified?
Why am I going round-and-round the same contradictions?
Why is my life so full of contradictions and acute self-awareness?
Why can I not get a job which would pay me a thousand ruppees (Indian currrency) per month?
Why don't I have a fairy godmother?
Why did I never belong to any 'group' in college?
Why can I not decide whether I enjoyed or were bored by the years spent in college?
Why don't I have a best friend?
Why can I not confide in people?
Why does everybody dislike me so? (look world eye yam sad, pity me! *pukes*)
"Why do you shut me up so"?
Why is memory sometimes so painful?
Why then is nostalgia so gold-dusty?
Why do I not have money to sterilise and feed dogs and cats?
Why must my parents criticise everything I do and praise nothing?
Why must my parents always refer to me as 'pagol' [not in a good way]?
Why can I not avenge my humiliation at their hands somehow?
Why can I not get out of this place?
Why do I have to suffer so?
Why am I so blue?


monidipa said...

because we all are, and because we all do?