Bookmark #847

When this day began, I looked at the time and realised I had overslept. This was according to plan. My wish for the last two days of the year—which I had, in fact, come up with the previous night before sleeping—was to spend them quietly, without much to do, without anywhere to go. All I wanted was to sleep in, wake up late, shower, read, and maybe watch a film. If my friends managed to make time for me, which has gotten rarer than in a blue moon, I would meet them for coffee or drinks, but if this did not happen, which I assumed was how things would transpire as it is not as straightforward to see your friends after reaching a certain age, I would not think of it twice, and simply continue the restful weekend.

And when I woke up and realised it was high noon, I smiled like how you do when things go your way for a change. Then, I got a message from the bank saying there was some document discrepancy, that the account had been blocked, and that I had to visit. Of course, I sighed; of course, this is how things have to be. And then, with the reluctant disposition of a child going to school, I got ready, went out, and got it all sorted out. I smiled through it, of course, as one must do when one knows that the others are only doing their jobs, but to say there was no measure of anger in me would be a lie. Now, I seem to have swallowed it yet again. Now, the day is marred with the banal troubles of the daily.

My wish for the next year is to live for myself.

The colour of this year was interruption. I have spent the year catering to the needs of others and dousing fires, beginning with text messages or calls. And to think I had only just started living for myself in the year that led to this. Once you get a taste of something, it gets harder to not crave it. This is true for love, but more importantly, this is true for peace.

Sometimes, I wish I could buy an estate, raise high walls around it, and only go out for groceries and such. But then, I remember how I would never be able to make that much money. And there goes that dream, just like the one to spend the last two days of the year unbothered.

But then, I reckon, to live is to be bothered.

// if you want to support this walk to nowhere, you can pitch in here