The Parallel Universe

I open my eyes, my pulse is racing, the only sound I can hear is the distinct ‘tick tock’ of the defective table clock and I make a mental note in some corner of my twisted messed up brain of getting it repaired. I think there was a point when I was wondering how this amazingly twisted bunch of neurons works. But that wasn’t the only thing I was thinking of. Somehow, even with me being wide awake, that dream kept on repeating itself in my head, and no matter how hard I try to forget it, every detail is so clear, it’s just like I’m watching a 5 minute video clip on repeat — albeit, in my head.

One look at my phone and it tells me its 4:27am. I go through the usual routine of checking mails, Facebook, whatsapp and BBM and realize that it’s not enough to distract me. I play a song instead. The music makes my head throb. I give up. I try looking out of my window. The sky looks beautiful with the stars strewn across and a faint glow all across and I go back to what seems like ages ago to the memory of the most beautiful night sky and subsequent sunrise I ever saw, and I feel my eyes welling up with tears.

I close my eyes again in the hope of forgetting all about it, and yet with every beat of my heart, the hollow and empty feeling keeps engulfing me, one cell of my body at a time. My hands are numb, my throat is dry. I try to get up to take a sip of water and realize I can’t move. I give up and swallow uncomfortably. The constant ‘tick tock’ kills me. In exactly 3 hours and 33 minutes from now, the seconds and the ticking clock won’t matter anymore. With every tick of that defunct clock, the dream returns. I try to push it out of my mind and yet it stays put, as stubbornly as it can.

I go through the tormenting dream again.

3 PDFs and 7 word files are open on my laptop screen and my eyes are scrunched up in concentration. There is clutter all around me, and I’m grabbing the bits and pieces of paper lying all over my bedspread, jotting down points as I go, scribbling feverishly at times, pausing and pondering as I go along. I’m working in a flow, and loving every bit of what I’m doing. The excitement, the nervousness, the stress, the pressure, the responsibility, the heady feeling all coupled with my 7th cup of coffee, and an amazing song playing in the background has given me an all new high. 5 questions to go, 5 hours to the deadline; sorted as I see it.

And then, the phone rings.

I open my eyes again, not having the courage to remember the conversation again, and yet those words echo in my head and the feeling of emptiness engulfs my entire being. I burry my head in my pillow, pull up my blanket, and drown the sound of my sobs.

How badly I wish The Parallel Universe existed.

My hands are itching to write but I know there is no way I can ever transfer all that pain and hopelessness on paper. I look around. 5:03 am. My heart sinks. I switch on the light and pick up a pen and paper. I stare at that blank sheet for some time and go back to all those times when everyone told me my life was just like that — A blank sheet of paper. I write my own story. And my heart sinks further when I realize it’s so not true. There is no blank sheet of paper. I go back to all those times when people told me faith could bring change. A few hours ago I couldn’t have agreed more. Not anymore though. I go back to times when even The Thought Catalogue reinstalled faith in me for who I was, and now, when I stare at that blank sheet of paper, I couldn’t disagree more. I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I illegibly scribble something about how I lost to the demons that were always there to bring me down, and I strike out the 5 odd sentences I managed to write in an hour.

6:07am says the clock while the early morning sun makes patterns on the tear blotted untidy sheet of paper that lies before me. Just a few hours more, I make a mental note. I’m surprised at how my mind can still make a note of it even when it’s so numb. Out of frustration, I check my horoscope. It says something about happiness and I realize; happiness is overrated. It’s a vague concept. And it does NOT exist for people like me. It cannot exist when you do not have any control at all over your life and the factors that influence it. It is a concept that holds no importance in a life that is lived by you for the sake of satisfying the ego of other people. It has no meaning when you are bound by factors that are non-negotiable. It is a worthless preposition. It is an illusion. It’s a delusion and we force ourselves into believing otherwise. How can ANYONE be happy when every question about your life is answered by “I wish, but..” How can anyone be in a truly and genuinely happy state when their life is restricted to constrictions laid by never evolving traditions? How can anyone ever be happy when they have to give up on opportunities, always, for reasons that cannot even be defined? How can anyone be happy till they are not the masters of their own legitimate wishes!

And thus, I infer, I cannot be happy.

Not as long as my life is the way it is.

And yes, according to popular belief, I am supposed to work on changing that. I am supposed to work on my circumstances. But what if I loose the resolve to? What if I can’t fight it anymore? What if I give up? And what if the factors can never be changed; no matter how hard I try? Who is to blame for that? What do you do when you know you yearn for change and happiness, it is within your grasp, and yet you are paralyzed and can do nothing about it?

I look at the clock. It’s exactly 8am. The sun has risen well and proper by now. ‘It’s time’ a voice in my head mumbles. I look at that sheet of paper in my hand and realize it’s soggy from all the tears. I crumple it up; throw it across the room into the dustbin, and burry my head back in bed, and wish, hope and pray that someday, somehow the sun rises again, and I am transported to that Parallel Universe where life isn’t so complicated, and happiness, change, faith, belief, love, passion, inspiration, and opportunities mean a lot more than just hollow words — a universe where life has more meaning.