SHIT HAPPENED…..

It’s like losing a child. Actually, that was a singularly insensitive statement. It cannot possibly be commensurate to a mother’s grief on losing a beloved child. But how do you measure the pain when all your dreams come crashing down? What is an appropriate analogy? May be being impaled by a dull knife, twisted by an invisible hand? Or being two inches away from the finishing line and having the line pulled farther away from you? You are bludgeoned by Reality. Your sense of self worth crushed to nothing, watching all your ambitions become impossibilities. The tantalizing reality becomes a distant dream- an illusion that you had about your capabilities. When you told yourself, “I can”, you merely lied to yourself- a lie which cost you dearly.

You are told that hard-work and dedication are all that are required for achieving your goals. But no-one talks about the X-factor. I wish I knew what that was. Whose propaganda was it? Who taught you to dream? Who gave you hopes? Ha, but you did it yourself. You were the one who invested your blood, sweat and tears. You could have taken the easy way. No one else impelled you to take this step. You are a big girl. Surely, you should have known what you were doing? You gave it life, nurtured it, watched it flourish and Poof, saw it being snuffed out in one, quick motion- as spontaneously as you had gambled. Ever heard of hedging your position? Ha, fool. What price all the fuss?

So shit happened. It has been happening for the last two years. Not that I mind- I am enlightened about ying- yang. There is balance in the world, they say. They must know. Most cocky sayings have been attributed to “they”, after all. Sure, give me eighty percent of the shit in the world- hell, I feel masochistic, give me the whole hog. But I wouldn’t mind it so much if it were interspersed with non-shit, once in a while. If there is balance in the world, why don’t the scales ever tip in my favour?

Ah, but that is life. C’est la vie. They nod wisely (And yes, let’s not forget Que sera, sera. We don’t want to be accused of playing favourites). Clichés,all. Designed to make you more fatalistic, to explain away all the shit, to make you feel all noble and forged in the righteous fire of glorified suffering- like the saints burned at stake. Hell, I ought to be Beatified. Makes you hate life even more, doesn’t it? Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you. All this is supposed to make you stronger, build character (although, I doubt if anyone spouting the virtues of suffering ever felt so much as a pin-prick) or effect something equally abstract, that none ever understands or attains. Of course, that doesn’t stop them from advocating misery for character building.

That was just a dream, just a dream, just a dream...dream.

P.S- Quite a departure, from my usual non-Saturnine self. Oh, well.