It’s 9 p.m.
Wake up at 7 in the morning, go wash your face, and run with a growling stomach to catch the very first bus, just so I won’t be late for my economics class. Yesterday also, Mr. Hanson made me stand up in front of the class for the whole period. David and his friends clicked a photo of me and sent it to the group chat, and again, there was a new way to make my day nothing less than a nightmare. It’s already 1 in the afternoon, and my stomach hasn’t seen a drop of water. Eating anything good is something joy to think about, at the moment. My eyes feel deserted now, my back aches, and I cannot sit any longer on this solid bench. The clock seems to get frozen in Instrumentation class. My day was gone in the blink of an eye as I stared at the hands of the clock and listened to the professor’s vivid murmuring.
Every day I make my bed at 9 p.m., make myself a cocoon of blankets, and spend hours scrolling my Instagram feed. This is how I shamelessly mislead myself, knowing I have to stress in the morning, an hour before my class, about my untouched lab reports and unfinished assignments. I watch stories of people in Instagram, who try to show their lives as fascinating. Breakfast at Himalayan Java, clubbing at midnight, a date with your crush, a summer vacation to Bali, a concert by Nepathya — people are really living their lives in my stories. This makes me wonder if I should take a rebirth or start doing the things people are showing me to do. If I come down to share my life in their stories, it will show nothing but how I make my bed, how dark my room is, how sleep-deprived my eyes are, and all the other boring stuff that the people in my Instagram stories might never have seen.
But then something unusual happened in my life, something very unusual for an Instagram scroller like me. Yesterday was a once-in-a-blue-moon night when this lazy head went clubbing with her friends at a time when she would normally be wrapped all around the blanket on any other day. It was good to catch up with friends, and everything was going great until I held the third glass of chilled beer in my frozen hand on that cold December night. I danced, drank some beer, clicked photos in my smokey hair, shouted my throat out, and like every other girl, I flirted with some really hot, handsome guys. The music was loud and fun, but with my every sip of drink, it was getting louder, and finally, it was a noise to me.
When I had almost had five glasses of beer, I lost control over myself. I could barely recognize my friends, and more and more I was getting irritated by the same environment that was like the best night ever to me a few minutes ago. The people I had my best time with were now making crowds around me. This was the time when I was flashed back to the day earlier while I was scrolling through my Instagram feed. The moment was so good that it made me feel like my life is fascinating too, like any other person in my Instagram stories, but I wasn’t really living the moment. I was missing the warmth my blanket gave me. I missed the dark, peaceful room that worked as my stress reliever. For the first time, I missed my sleep and felt like doing my untouched lab reports.
It’s incredible that how a boring person like me, who complained about not having the fun life that people in her stories have, when actually gets to live it, would miss the cocoon of her blanket. I was among tens of people, but I felt lonely and undesirable. I was worried about how and when I would get to go home. I was worried if I would even get a cab driver or not, or even if I did, would he land me safely at my place? So many random thoughts knocked on my head, and I was drowning in a pool of panic in my own mind. I never felt this insecure while I was in my bed. My life, which I was living until yesterday, never gave me this stress. I wasn’t happy, but I wasn’t even stressed. That’s how I always wanted to live. But panicking didn’t help, and remembering how relaxed and warm I was the other day reminded me that I was living a normal yet exciting life.
“I would have been enjoying sleeping on this cold night,” was all I kept thinking.
My life was monotonous. Every day, I wake up at the same time, run again, get trolled and teased, return home, scroll over feeds, and turn off my light at 9. This was all I had until the day before I went clubbing. But little did I know that I was comfortable with my monotonous life. I was pretty prepared for waking up, running, seeing the same faces, scrolling through people’s stories, and falling asleep as I turn my lights off at 9. It was never exciting to me how I lived a very ordinary life, but that night seeing many new faces was a cold, uneasy, harsh adrenalin rush when I stepped out of my usual days. Things could be happening at any random time for any random reason.
Today I’m back to the way I’ve been living since I can’t remember when. It’s about to get nine. I am preparing to make my bed ready to wrap me up so that I can hang on to my phone again. I feel full, confident, and cherished just getting into bed and doing whatever I want.
“Oh, it’s already nine o’clock, ready to go,” I say as I switch off the light.
