Contemplating on becoming a novelist, the best thing about being a novelist is that there is free entry and free exit. A concept made familiar in class xi economics. I really loathe school times, one of the worst periods of my life. Somehow, I don’t remember school time at all, and neither do I feel nostalgic about it. I wonder why. I do feel nostalgic about my time in Pune. The best time ever had in my life. One thing that comes to my head during my time in Pune and Mumbai was that I was alone and away from the incongruencies of my life and family.With 4 years of family life now under my belt, I think its time to move on. Now I realise that nothing here actually belongs to me. It all belongs to someone else in my family. Nothing here is mine and I don’t think I would want to own up to it.
Just by saying that I think its time that I become my own and know what I am going for. What my identity and what my family’s identity will be. I need to go out to build character, the character long lost and withered in dusty walls of my house, my family home. Now it doesn’t feel my own anymore.
I want to hide, because it is human character, an innate habit for all introverted people to hide behind a facade, but such cannot and does not last for long. That it is again human nature and an innate character of every person and identity to break off from its old and wreath a new one when it must. Somehow, very similar to a snake, that must peel its own skin out so that the new and bright underskin comes out to give it the fresh life it needs and it deserves after a long time under the old one.
Material things have made them last long but I think my material possessions have outlasted their charm, and no longer have that appeal that it once used to have. The fresh wallet, the supremely crisp shirt, the striking colored sofa and the pixel perfect television, it does belong to someone else and mine remains nil in this, and because of this, the material belonging of all this remains less for me. Maybe my own belongings may have a lot of worth for me but afford I cannot, and my yearning for them has become less. Maybe words and visions is what I crave now, as I have seen material possessions bring out the devil in people. The devil I’m not, and neither am I one in the making, not even heaven, but I yearn for neither.
My vision and my words is what I crave for, and maybe… that may be my true calling. In this world of crazy stuff, I think that is what will bring me insanity but lead me to saneness and stillness. My last letter may just have my words and maybe that will bring me peace like no other.