Nothing but The Perceived Truth

Sometimes I find it difficult to breathe. I probably shouldn’t write this much less post it, lest someone I know will read it and get worried. The likelihood of that happening is pretty darn high as almost everyone I know read my blog.

But I am still going to write about it and even more post it. I lack a sense of self-preservation, don’t I?

Sometimes it gets so difficult to breathe. Not the kind of difficult when you have a blocked nose. More like the panicky kind of difficult that happens when you are lost. Or when your world is spinning out of control.

Is my world spinning out of control?

Not really. It is all okay. I do not exist in the time of the Great Plague or any of the world wars. Now seems to be the best time to live in.

And it is. I’m glad that I exist now. That I get to read all the books I’m reading. I get to watch so many movies; so many TV shows. There is a lot of good music to listen to. I have good friends. A family. If I count all the things I should be grateful for, I won’t ever finish.

But sometimes, it just does not feel enough. I am me. I am this person. But I don’t feel like me. I feel that the real me is trapped somewhere inescapable.

Society tells us to conform to so many things. Right from what to wear, the people we should talk to, what kind food to eat, what to watch, what to read, what to talk to the extent that we are conditioned to think in a certain way.

I used to be perfectly content in this conformity. Good grades, good friends, decent clothes etc. My biggest rebellion was reading books my mum wouldn’t approve of and reading them way beyond my sleep time.

Now, I rebel by buying books whenever I want and not adhering to mum’s book ban. Yeah, I understand that I own too many books- a lot of which I haven’t even read yet. But isn’t it better that I’m spending my money on books than alcohol or drugs?

Another act of rebellion was supposed to be getting inked. I had expected a lot opposition and drama at home. That didn’t happen. Everyone took it quite well. And I’m glad they did. I have no desire that my life should turn out like an episode of Gossip Girl or One Tree Hill.

But I felt a little disappointed. I am not Katniss Everdeen. I understand that but at times, my imagination gets carried away.

Conformity…

Tomorrow India will celebrate it’s 67th Republic Day. The Government adopted the Constitution on this day. In India, we hoist the flag and suddenly start overflowing with patriotism. There is a parade in the capital, activities in schools and colleges, speeches, patriotic songs, and a whole lot of WhatsApp messages and Facebook statuses.

I no longer see the point of it all.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud to be an Indian chick- with my gorgeous brown skin and inborn multilingualism.

But to be told that I am patriotic only if I attend these speeches or sing those songs and do certain things seems a lot like propaganda to me. Propaganda calls for conformity. And I am not a big fan of conformity.

Not in all cases. Not complete obedience.

If I let someone else think for me, what’s the point of living in a democracy?

If I am in a state of complete conformity, then how do I create something unique that will actually be remembered in the years to come?

If I don’t dare to use my brain cells, what’s the point of having them?

This gets me into trouble more times than I care to count.

But I don’t I care.

I don’t give a shit anymore. But the thing is, I have been conditioned to care about what other people think and I can’t help but fear being reprimanded.

This fear leaves me out of breath.

I believe that I have offended enough people already. I think I should shut up now.