Different People, Different Stories

Imagine, its your second day in college. You are still the newbie that you are, knowing lesser people than you should. But for some stupid reason, you continue introducing yourself to every other face you see. Then there’s this guy sitting in front of you. And he’s giving off you the vibe of a Know-it-all from all the knowledgeable talk he’s putting forward. And you just want to stay right away from him, because you’re afraid you can’t keep up with someone who knows just bloody everything. But of course, you can’t turn rude on the very second day, so you promise to stay in touch. And then of course you didn’t.

Now, imagine that a month’s past gone. You’re supposedly settled. You’re on your way back home from college and that guy-from-the-second-day shares the same space as you. This is it, you can’t ignore him enough. So you converse like any normal person would, because you’re a normal person too. But the conversation doesn’t lead you to the way it should have been. You expected that after this you would want to ignore him more, hate him for some reason, because you guys are just plain different. Now, you do want to ignore him more, hate him more for some reason, because you guys are not just plain different.

You realise that you share a part of your story with him and that’s just so annoying. You realise that there must be that one thing or two that you did or didn’t that actually made you, and that made him, differentiated individuals with matching stories. It’s like meeting people with the same tattoo as yours, just on different body parts. Like there must be a reason why he got his tattoo wherever he got and you got yours on your wrist. Maybe its about how you both wear your tattoos, how you tell your stories to people.

What if there was a point in time when you both were standing in front of the tattoo parlor, fidgeting with the thought that struck your minds out of the very blue; moving your fingers across your cold, sweaty skin in a pattern that you imagine your body getting inked with; contemplating what everyone will say?
What if you decided then that you’ll get the tattoo right away, just on your leg?

What if there was a point in time when you both were identical and then if you had switched lives, what would you have done? would you have become what they are now?

Suppose now you know about the very moment when you both got your lives diverged, you got to know that he got his leg inked with the same tattoo, would you now change your path, would you go back to the tattoo station and get it now on your leg too? Would you change yourself now that you know what you would become on that path?

Maybe. Maybe not. Because you change paths almost every moment, with every decision, however small it be; because you decide to get inked with every passing decision. If you are the decisions you make, if you are the compilation of tattoos you get then who ever they are is the compilation of all the decisions they made. Just because you once got the same tattoo as his doesn’t mean you’ll stay the same after its imprinted on your skin. Maybe same tattoos don’t mean same stories, after all. Because we don’t stop at just one tattoo, we get other tattoos which have already altered us in so many ways. Maybe even if we change one significant thing about ourselves, we wouldn’t essentially change ourselves into another person. Maybe we were the person that we are now, and will always be, maybe we’ll change but we’ll be the same person. Because that is the person we were always supposed to become. Maybe we chose to decide in a certain way, because we are a certain way of a person. Maybe decisions make us who we are, because we take decisions the way we are.

Maybe same tattoos are same stories, but same tattoos on different bodies are different stories, not because of the places the tattoos are conceived or the way the stories are told but because they are just on different bodies. Every body is a different story.