I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know why the phrase “I don’t know” has become an inseparable part of my vocabulary. I want to be like those people who are so pumped up about things, who are happy, who are not scared to take risks and the positive people — the people who don’t “don’t know”.
These “knowing” people — you just know them, they can be very easily identified from a distance, they do not have a scowl on their face, they are not double checking their belongings, they do not hide behind their phones, they will talk to you, they do not fumble, they also are happy or they are immensely strong to remain happy in the face of all the problems on them.
I want to be like that. I don’t know (here it comes again) but I think I was somewhat like that, not exactly but somewhat. My default expression was never a smile and I always had trouble speaking to other people (so much so that I would think 10 times before asking the teacher whether I could go to the washroom) but I had the pleasantness and ease. I, I, I another word that has found a permanent place in my narrative these days. I do not want that, I do not know why is that the case.
I also complain a lot these days, there were times when I would very easily defend my argument with words like “realism” but now I know that it is and was plain cynicism. I hate everything now a days. It is annoying to the point of torture. I hate the people who are happy every time, the ones I mentioned above who I want to be like, I want to shake them and ask them what is wrong with you has life not happened to you yet, what are you, why are you like this? Be sad. I know that I sound ridiculous but it is extremely off putting — excuse me please do not be nice to me, no I do not want to talk to you and let you know my troubles. It is so refreshing seeing someone as miserable. There is this editor I wish I can be like in around 8 years or so and I saw him talking about despair and sadness in the socially acceptable humorous ways and that was the only thing that was uplifting for me this entire week. Only thing — again a very horrid thing, but what can you do?
But, that is the reason that I do not know. I do not know what is gotten into me, why am I such a person now, why is there so much confusion, I hate the fact that I am becoming one of those people that come and write something nonsensical on the internet when they are feeling uneasy and are never the ones to share a positive comment. I hate that rather than being inspired by the nice people I hate them, I hate when they have happy things to share, my mother always said happiness spreads by sharing and you should always take part in other people’s happiness but I cannot. I hate the fact that that I talk about myself so much that I have a blog about myself in which I talk no sense, I only talk about “I”. I hate the fact that on days like this I have nothing important to do than fret over my muddled brain. I hate the fact that I do not know why all of this is happening, is it hormones? Is my brain getting damaged? Am I being over dramatic? Or what kind of nonsense is this? I hate the fact that I don’t see any point of blogging anymore, earlier it was an outlet to my stories, sometimes real sometimes imaginary, now it is my rant machine. I hate the fact that it is so. I hate that fact that I do not know why this is so. I hate the fact that I don’t know so much. I hate the fact that I don’t know. I don’t know.