Monthly Archives: February 2013

Who moved my cheese?

People change. But why is it when someone says that, it’s always with a tinge of resentment? Why should it be a bad thing — that someone’s changed? It’s only how we would evolve, no? I look around, and I find that most people I loved¬†ardently have changed over the last few years. But who am I to grudge that? Why, I’ve changed so much in the last two years, I sometimes think I’m a different person, leading someone else’s life!

The begrudging, I think it comes from the fact that changes are always unsettling, even when they’re for the better. This whole process of transition — of growing up, evolving, becoming more mature, adapting to situations, whatever you want to call it — no matter how necessary and natural, isn’t easy. It’s tough to let go of ideas you’ve seen as constants in your head, and even tougher to let go of people. It’s trying, to say the least, to choose everyday between what you would have done, and what you want to do now, because you aren’t the same person, and it’s not the same world. And what used to be right, is just a big question mark now. And where they were no question marks before, there are so many. I don’t know if it’s a happy process for some, it’s not been for me. Because the only way I know to grow up is the hard way. Even when I’m not consciously resisting, I think I hate that I must be a new person to be happy in my world. Who moved my cheese, I ask ruefully, and wish I was at a higher plane spiritually to handle this. But this is my journey. This is how I must reach where I’m intended to go.

But what I tell myself constantly, is that it’s alright, that it’s okay. The world’s not a static place. And when I’m done with the heartache of being who I wasn’t, I will look back and think it was for the better. And I tell myself, it’s okay that people are changing. They’re going through the same stuff that I am, probably. Probably not. Probably, they just think I’ve changed. But I can’t be apologetic about that. It’s not a voluntary act, you know. Just like I’m not 25 anymore, I’m not the same person anymore. There’s no other way of being just now.


The return, the anti-climax

Incredulous. Last night I logged into the blog after eons, wrote a post — a poetic, even poignant-at-places post about how my words were drying up within me because they couldn’t flow out — and before I could proof read it and press post, had lost the entry! I wanted my return to blogging to be a well-written, dramatic thing, and what do I end up with? This anti-climax.

But come to think of it, that’s how life really has been for me for a really long time. The best laid plans go kaput, and things have a tendency to look like how they were never meant to be, not according to me. Everything, so many things have just been falling off the mark. It’s like you blow and blow into a deflated balloon till it swells and starts to look interesting, but before you can tie it up with a string, it goes phat! Burst.

But of the post I lost… I have no inclination to recreate it, or the ability to rewrite it from memory either, except one part. It’s about how I think I need to get back to putting my thoughts down on paper because it’s the only way I know to sort them out in my head. Blame it on my fifth grade teacher, who insisted we write down our lessons to memorize them better. I think I need to begin writing again for the same reason: I need to learn my lessons better, the ones life’s been dishing out with such impunity. Just so I don’t make the same mistakes again.