Random — ness abounds
I write this piece in an alcohol induced haze from a strange (and yet strangely familiar) city sitting on a stranger’s (yet kind of a friend’s) bean bag in the stranger’s (yet feels like home) apartment. There is a stranger’s-friends’ party on in the house and though I have partaken of the drink and laughed around with the group, loneliness surrounds me. I am a stranger in this intimate group, an outsider if you will.
They are all clustered in the balcony, a picture of the very snapshot that every disapproving parent has about our generation. Loose, immoral, dangerous and very much anti-culture. The parents have no clue what strength these people have and what ordeals they put themselves through to make their dreams happen. The fact that they are all amazingly talented and driven is masked by their juvenile acts and silliness.
What do I feel?
I feel like an observer of the environment. I sit there passively, absorbing much, contributing little. Yet with whatever little I contribute, I change the narrative. No such thing as a passive observer in the world. At this very moment, right now though — I feel invisible. It was as if I were never here…a background score to the cover band, wallpaper to the room and just chump change. I am somewhat disappointed by this. I feel inferior. I am so insecure about the entirety of my existence that I cannot comprehend people who have so much of their shit together. Leaves me aghast and lonelier than before.
What is the purpose of this?
None whatsoever. Apologies for warning you this late in the article (if you got this far, which I doubt). These are simply the ravings of an addled mind, in control always, but not thinking entirely straight. I pour out whatever comes to mind without giving it much thought. I edit nothing and read nothing. I write. Continuously, tiredly, sleepily. I write on, I write on.
Now they have moved into the kitchen and are sitting on the floor. Video games are under discussion. GTA something or other. Mass Effect. (Beautiful game that, loved the story). But hush! You are supposed to observe and report, not interpret and comment. The talk turns to chemistry and then a lull in the whole thing. It is 3AM after all.
One person is passed out till kingdom come already and I seem to be close to following suit. I do believe I shall regret publishing this. Perhaps I will have to take it down after I realize what a horrible mistake I’ve made. These ramblings makes less than no sense. What am I doing tapping away when I should be trying to blend in. Talk to the aliens, they don’t seem scary.
I rolled my head around my neck once. Felt like my brain sloshed around in the cranium. I feel sick, but it shall pass. I do certainly hope so. Throwing up would not be a pretty sight.
My ears have picked up the conversation again. They are discussing Urdu words which sound grand but mean funny things. Tashreef. Literally translates to backside. Why are we talking about this? Hardly seems relevant at this point. The discussion has advanced in leaps since I typed out these two sentences above. I understand none of it. I hear the words, know their meaning, but when they are uttered as a string, a sentence, the coherence is lost on me.
I should just turn in. Water first, the throat is as parched as the city’s water supply. Absolute state of drought in the old tonsil area. Yes, water is necessary but that shall mean hauling ass out of this comfy bean chair. Or talking to one of them. Now that shall not do, for I must remain an observer only.
But the drought is getting worse. I must sort this out. These folks seem to have a habit of tripping all night. Compared to them, I have a perfectly disciplined lifestyle.
This piece is getting sicker, just like the state of my stomach. I got my water. Had to call out, observer status thus lost. I feel rejuvenated, energized, awakened. Amazing what a sip of dihydrogen monoxide will do. It’s just a temporary fix though. The thing needs to permanently leave my system. That shall have to wait till morning for sure.
So what now? Must stop writing this. The laptop screen is enhancing my nausea, making me feel like I’m getting cancer from the radioactivity emitted from the screen. Must stop.
Stopping now. Sorry for wasting your time.