Literally can't even

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Do you remember being stuck in a 12 hour long flight? The ears ringing, children around you (by the virtue of being 'you', the most crankiest anomalies will be placed around you in the aircraft) being irritable and whining more than what you'd if your mother were around. That kind of situation, where you're literally stuck in a damn tube, couple of hundred thousand feet high up in the sky, along with several dozen others and looking around to realize you've nothing in common with any of them. Maybe, you might share your family name with someone, your place of residence, in some cases, you might have shared a sexual partner, your favourite chips brand could be similar or you could share an aerated beverage preference with some of them or maybe not. The fact of the matter is that you're in a closed box, capsuled together like sardines in tin, waiting to settle in a household, a runaway if you please and get the crap out to move on (rest in peace, sardines).

I don't think you're getting the state. Let's begin again. Think of being stuck in a submarine. A jet-boat. Your one hour in that stupid vehicle is relative to the rest of your life. You'd feel time has passed in your life on this planet in the last five years as five seconds but think of those painfully long moments when you're stuck in a conference, a board meeting, an interview with a senior executive of your firm that you must work to pay for the flight, that you will take in order to escape the banalities of this life. Then, you will cage yourself in a flight for 12 hours to undertake that recursion, to feel better about this life.

I am in that limbo. I'm that cranky child who cannot convey that it's ears are ringing. I am that annoyed fat person, stuck in the middle of a Ryan Gosling and Tina Fey on a flight, who want to be together but my presence is stopping it. My academic paper is that presence and my loneliness is that child's journey, forcefully undertaken by the virtue of being somewhere and having to choose to do something that allows me basic luxury of being a white girl- getting lattes, chilling with proverbial friends, trivialising over things and spending hours fussing about nonsense (he's too gay to function, never again).

I am hopeless. I am a hot mess. I have deadlines. Events. Flight. Wedding. Academic papers. Life. Sleep. Friends. Nothing is a coherent statement. All of this is fragmentary. I cannot understand my texts and all of a student, it feels like I'm back in undergraduate third year, trying to grapple aesthetics and failing miserably.


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