'This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

Why is choosing a road less traveled poetic in theory but baleful in reality? Why do I have to straighten up my upper lip every time I’m out alone? Why is going to the gym my only strength when I’m mentally strong too? Why isn’t that enough? Why do boys always stare at you? What is my body and why does it even exist as another entity altogether? What are my legs if they’re not walking away from threat? Constant vigilance, Professor Mad-Eye Moody would say.

These are the questions that young adult women like me have today; among many others. The one most important answer to these questions is that my life lacks a million characters of a good fiction book, and so it is not.

It is so easy to lose all temptation to acquire knowledge, to settle for vapid frivolities, to bury the hatchet of curiosity; and live forever, in the transient paradise of defiance. Chill, relax, they say. Look up at the sky, why is it serene to look at the color blue but then it is associated with depression and sadness? What is the fracture point in the stress-strain graph of a human mind? When did you last stop believing in the existence of a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow? What makes you, you? What makes your heart flutter, and your chest swollen with pride?

We had a plethora of questions while growing up; we looked up to adults for the know-it-all giants they were to us. Who is god and where do we go when we die? Why is learning tables more important than the diorama of a kitchen set? Why are some things, and some people, placed at a higher value than the rest? Why do I have to be of that age, to do that? Who gave love a bad name? Why do we fight wars?

I wonder what would be the answer to these questions, if they were asked by a kid. But then again, kids are very smart these days, most of them are. Innocence is a rare gift; it shouldn’t be exploited with half-assed truths. But as we grow up, we glean information. We open several tabs. We clear our histories. We become aware. We satisfy our curiosities and begin to consolidate answers for ourselves.

Limitless, you do NOT have to be of that age, to learn that; though I still think that only prodigies can do that, maybe because of the embedded fear of failure in my mind. But I like to believe the former, and do most of the things based on words sewn together to form my life mantra – I can be whoever I want to be.

Equity, being a jargon in the world of finance is also the part and parcel of life itself. Equity is imperative. Hierarchy is status; order which is relevant, though not permanent. Atheism, feminism, nationalism, patriarchy, all resonated within me in a similar fashion. At times the answers I was being given seemed incongruent with the reality, so much so that I was being propelled by a great desire to just let go of everything. Every little doubt was relinquished for peacefulness. Several tabs were all closed, at once. I felt it to be important that I do not get pummeled for my interest in history, so I hid it. And escaped the chaos it was so famous for brewing. So I did bury the hatchet, did I go back to it? Who knows?

“Dad! Sparkling! Wires!” I screamed at the glow of electricity in the air.

“It’s Sparking, kiddo. Not Sparkling.” He laughed

I remember being upset for being wrong. I was so bad at English; I still am just ok at it. I was disparaged for my English. So I made words my best crony. I asked questions. These questions were nothing, but meaning of the words I found in the texts that I read. And that meaning has been important for me; it has been the driving force for my not so fictitious life.

*Winks*

What is your most important question?

Memoir of an unaccomplished girl

If this 22 year old girl ever wrote a book about her life, it is going to be called “Memoir of an unaccomplished girl”. And if you decide to read further than the title, it is because you’re simply intrigued. Maybe ultimately she has something to offer, something to say. Maybe she has figured everything out to reach to such conclusion. Maybe she has defeated love, or conquered it.

Maybe you will find your unfulfilled wishes in the flickering pages of her book. Maybe you will find the answers to your questions, something which would be pacifying and corroborative. Because we all have things which have been left unaccomplished, dreams that were relinquished, wishes lost to the enduring tides of reality. Ultimately, rendering what could have been to what could not be accomplished.

She will know that there is nothing extraordinary about not accomplishing anything. But being unaccomplished can have myriad of possibilities, it keeps you off the pedestal and mostly free. And even if this girl is an accomplished girl, being unaccomplished gives her life purpose, and more room for exploration.

Why does she have to be labelled as unaccomplished?

She is not validating her life, but simply laying out the facts of a contrite heart.

This girl will write about the boy who kept pulling at her heart strings. She will write about her first crush; and her last. She will tell her readers that everything she writes about should be taken with a pinch of salt. She will write in a haphazard manner, since chronology is weakening and mundane.

In her book, she will introduce sharp and shrewd characters. They will be quick to notice the signs concealed beyond comprehension by destiny. She will severe her ties with the almighty, when in a riotous uproar of events her heart is broken.

From the very first chapter, she will plunge into the beginning of her first regret. She will create madness, propelled by her earliest memories. She will write about the dull, cold months, preparing for exams and finding solace in her imagination. She will write about those warm, soothing summer nights spent reading Harry Potter. And the sick days, spent reading about Katniss Everdeen, when she would imagine herself to be as strong, and standing as tall as her.

She will write about the pungent smell of alcohol in the chapter where she didn’t drink. She will write about the laughter that followed her “No”, which still echoes in the valleys of her mind.

She will write about fate, and possibilities, ignited by those not confined within the four walls of human capacity, lying inside the four walls constructed by our egos.

She will write about writing, about finding solace in the scribbled sentences and ragged blotches on a yellow paper.

Finally, she will write about finding herself, in an alternate universe. Detached from reality, right where she loses herself in the beginning. She will find her old journals there, and rummaging through them, she will find no regrets. They will be brimming with happy memories, full of good people.

She will write about her slow pace in this new world, about tasting every win and defeat.

She will learn that the pace of life is not dictated by how fast or slow you are moving, it is decided by how much you are learning. In the end she will say, “The faster everything moves, the more it hurts."

And with that, she will take a break, and stop writing. Hence, she will be successful, in being a truly unaccomplished girl.

Rest, don't run.

If the heart is not where the mind is,

And the wind beneath your wings is not reassuring,

If the pages of your book are kicking and screaming,

And even the warmth is intoxicating,

Till the embers of the fire ignited by cruel memories remain,

Don't quit, just breathe,

Take a break, let it be,

If you know when to pick yourself up,

It is not defeat.

So rest, 

Don't run, and slow things down a bit.

If you haven't washed your hair for days,

And expectations take its

toll on you,

Stay off the pages of the book that's writing you,

Sop empowering what is terrorizing you 

If there's chill in the air,

And there's crack in your bones,

If your visions blurs,

And every decision blows,

Hold onto the book that gives you grim courage,

And dim the lights if you have to,

But rest, don't run

And slow things down a bit.

If impeccable white clothes are dizzying you,

And you're hoping for a higher heaven

It's when future plans are threatening your happiness,

Know that progress is not a given.

When flattery takes its sweet revenge on you,

And the past is mastering over present

Know that what you receive may not come easy to you,

It may appear bleak and askew.

So when the morning sun comes up,

don't beat yourself up,

spare some time for the real you,

Rest if you must, and slow things down a bit.