Old Sepia Pages

2. indifferent

7th july, sunday, 2019

dear diary,

I am surprised at how indifferent I became about everything. I still am, in some ways. For example, while my parents are looking for a way to settle abroad because they don't like the quality of life here, I honestly don't care about it. When they asked me which college I wanted to attend, I said that I didn't know, and nor did I do any research after that. When they asked me whether I wanted my college to be in India or abroad, I said I didn't know. When they asked in which country I wanted to spend the rest of my life, I said I didn't know.

Maybe I'm so indecisive because I have zero experience and no opinion on these things.

My class 12 result came out. I got 94% but I scored 92 in English, and when we requested for a photocopy of my paper, I found that I had lost marks because in a newspaper report in which I was supposed to write 200 words, I wrote only a 100. My parents were upset because I easily could have scored more, but frankly, I didn't care. And they still taunt me about it, I don't know why, maybe they think that if this defeat is rubbed into my face on a regular basis, I will never forget it and will never repeat this mistake.

But I find it irritating and I couldn't care less. I honestly think that if I deserved better marks, I would have got them on my own. I had all the facilities: the best teachers, a good school, books, no pressure of additional competitive exams, a 'supportive' father who screamed at me frequently to get me back on track, yet I couldn't score well.

I remember how I used to cry frequently in 12th. My parents would call me into their room, and ask me what I wanted to do in life, and how I was gonna manage if I hadn't made up my mind yet, bombard me with questions, and I remember I would be struggling to hold back tears. It seemed natural and normal at that time. Of course I was gonna cry. I was fed up. When my classmates went out for recess or for P.E., I would stare at the work that I had to do for my tuition that evening and just start crying because I was unable to absorb anything.

Now I'm realizing that something must've been seriously wrong with me, because I never cry just like that. No one does. I'm tough. It wasn't even something to cry about, but it didn't seem like that then. The grief must have seeped pretty deep into my bones for me to reach that stage. I would just sit at my desk with my books, not wanting to study but also not being able to do anything else because of the guilt I would feel for neglecting the work. I would just wait for the day to get over so I could go to sleep and have a brief respite from the never-ending cycle of waking up hopeful and being crushed with disappointment.

Whenever I look back upon that year, I see everything clouded by a fog of unhappiness, which hasn't quite gone away yet. I withdrew completely and just stopped caring about anything at all, and I haven't been able to shake it off till now. I saw my friends happy and doing well and not having time for me, and I didn't want to disturb them.

I think when something bad happens to people, they develop these defense mechanisms that don't allow them to see things as they are. People change themselves, then forget why they did so, and when there is no need for that anymore, they don't realize it.

After repeated failures, I developed this attitude that no amount of studying was gonna get me marks, so I stopped studying. I've changed over the past 2 years, and I want to go back to being the chirpy person that I was, but I don't know how to. It's like I've developed some changes but I don't know exactly what they are, so I can't change myself back. Heck, now I've even forgotten why I've changed. I don't know what happened, but I remember how it made me feel.

I'm also worried because my parents had to rescue me from jumping off a figurative cliff, when I had given up an wasn't doing anything. I can feel myself going there again. Maybe this is who I really am? After all, the way people behave in times of hardship shows us what they are made of. What if that's how I spend my whole life?

I'm sick of feeling hollow. I don't know what is going on inside me. I'd thought that once the cause of my stress was taken away, I would be fine. But I just seem to be unable to recover. Nothing makes me happy: not chocolate, not books, not praiseful comments on my singing or talent.

Not loving anyone, not having anything to live for doesn't make you free. 

It makes you lost.

I don't know how to get back up. I'm just hoping that college, being a new environment and a new challenge, will stimulate some emotion inside me.

❄