War

“I feel like I’m waging an internal battle.”

You’ve heard this line uttered by countless teenagers and 20-something’s and this is the point where you make up your mind about this being just another cliche melodramatic rant. You would probably stop reading here.

Let’s try to think out of the box here, just for a second. Every battle is not the same. And mine doesn’t have two sides; it has many.

There is no good or bad, wrong or right side to my battle because a) there are more than two sides and b) if I knew which side was right, don’t you think I would have resolved this war?

So coming back to the point, I’m battling the different parts of myself:

The part of me that believes that our education system retards creativity versus the part of me that wants to get into a good college.

The part of me that doesn’t care what other people think of me versus the part of me that got upset when a boy called me a hypocritical airhead.

The part of me that yearns for human interaction versus the part of me that dislikes most of the people I meet.

The part of me that feels horrible when I say something against a person versus the part of me believes that differing opinions need to be expressed to bring about change.

The part of me that wants to stand out, but only in the ways which are socially acceptable.

The part of me that wants to have all the freedoms of being an adult versus that part that desperately clings to the shreds of childhood I have left.

The part of me that refuses to fall for the stereotypes the media subconsciously urges us to believe versus the part of me that tries to conform to ‘pretty’ almost every time I go out.

The part of me that knows I need to exercise more often because my health is deteriorating rapidly versus that part of me that just doesn’t exercise, because, exercise.

The part of me that rebels against high school drama versus the part of me that feels insufficient if I’m not involved in a high school drama.

The part of me that believes I’m special versus the part of me that thinks I’m just another human walking on a planet millions of human have walked on before.

I’m a walking, talking hypocrite inside. But isn’t everybody?

Boy A

(Reader discretion: This is fiction inspired by a person. But mostly fiction. Please respect this.)

I’m distracted. Even when I try to study, which I’m actually supposed to be doing, my thoughts keep floating back to him.

I don’t know him. I mean, I don’t think I’d be able to recognise him if I saw him on the street. But somehow I feel really comfortable around him. He’s a year older, not that it should make a difference. But he’s so… Relatable. He understands my weird obsessions with TV shows and books, because he obsesses over them too. A diamond in a dirty mine.

We have been in constant conversation for the past 3 months now, via a social media site. But we have actually met in real life though. It was at some inter school event that I frankly, really hated. I didn’t pay much attention to him in the beginning. He was really annoying but also kind of cute and innocent. I guess I didn’t give him a second look because I spent the majority of the time cursing everybody in the room.
If you hadn’t realised it by now, that event was one of the worst experiences of my life. But that’s a story for another time.

He seemed really ordinary with no really distinctive features. It’s only after hearing gloriously fantastical stories about him in the bus rides back home when I began to wonder if he was really more than what meets the eye.

And then he met my eye.

He won something at that event. I can’t remember what, but it was a big thing. I remember watching him walk up to the stage like he owned it, while the crowd cheered a LOT. It was only then that I realised that this ordinary looking boy was one of the ‘popular kids’. Oh damn, you should have seen how fast my bitch mode switched on.

He came back with us in our bus. I watched form the corner as he was the centre of attention, everybody recalling crazy incidents involving alcohol, the police and of course, him.

Weeks passed. It was the day before the Sherlock season 3 premier that I acknowledged him again. He posted something super fangirlish and I had to immediately state my opinions as a proud fangirl myself.

And when (as usual) the nail biting cliffhanger ripped all feeling out of me, he seemed to be the only person in the world that would understand the frustrating agony of a Sherlock cliffhanger.

Soon, as we talked, I realised that he wasn’t only passionate about my favourite tv show, but also my favourite books, music and movies. Mind you, the above mentioned things have played an instrumental part of my life. They are my bible.

I must point out here that our conversations have an underlying element of continuity, but aren’t necessarily punctual. For example, we started a conversation 3 months ago. And none of us have actually said ‘bye’ or hi’. The conversation just continues. And we reply when we are free to. That maybe the next day, or a week after that. But the conversation goes on.

So, from what I understand, we don’t have a schedule which we follow to chat. And we chat about the most random things. We have no obligation towards each other. But as the days go by, and other relationships falter, I am beginning to wonder if there is something obligatory in our relationship.

Last night he told me about his life for the first time. And I told him about mine. That was the first time we had a personal conversation. And I felt something.

Maybe I should feel something more often.

…. To be continued…