Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Rambling 1

Some wife has killed herself. Someone has been robbed. Some innocent young girl has been raped by her uncle. The prices are high for daily essentials. Is it me or the daily newspaper is full of such pieces every time I decide to read one? I know I am a journalist and I must be up to date with the current affairs, and reading newspaper, since I work at one, should come naturally to me. And as this is a blog, I will tell you this--I know what's happening around. But reading newspaper is such a depressing thing. And to top it all, people love to read it first thing in the morning. Why would anyone want to know of all that has gone wrong in the world first thing in the morning?
Robert Fulghum said in one of his books that the world is not full of evil. Not every stranger is a criminal. Not every night has dangers of murder and rape. According to him, one in many turn criminals which is why they make news. If every one were committing heinous crimes, it would be nothing extraordinary worth reporting.
Well, I believe Thomas Hobbes. He says man is bad. I believe that. All of us have our own limits of being good. At some point or other, our tolerance levels reaches a stagnation point. First we become evil with those closest to us. Our family. Then our friends.
At the core, we are all evil. That is known. The newspaper only shows how creative man has been with his negativity. It also gives cues to others nearing their last point of tolerance. And they imitate. They think it is okay. All crimes become commonplace for potential criminals then. And those of us who claim to be good and far from devil, fear the world outside.
Then it is a 'One against all. And all against one situation'.

So be it

By the end of this year, I should have saved enough to rent a flat for myself. I also hope to find a roommate I approve of and can live with.

That's 9 months from now.
I am only a Features Writer. I am only 23. I haven't done any ground-breaking stories or dug information that no one else could have. My work is just about okay. So, I don't really earn much.

So when I tell my older sister of my plans, her skeptical, faithless and disappointed reflexes,  burn something in me and I retaliate. Then she covers it up by putting forth an inevitable question of how practical it is. I refuse to explain and claim all intelligence and responsibility that I think I possess and declare "I have thought this through. I will manage. Just stop giving those looks".

The truth is I am very worried about the numbers which are my tools to move out. To be on my own. To wake up to a quiet house I can call my place. To spend my mornings listening to music not on headphones. To make my breakfast and lunch in a kitchen organised, labelled, cleaned and maintained by me and by my standards. To have my friends come over whenever I want them to. To do just anything I like.

All I want is a room of my own. Just that it is larger than just a room with more defined territories. All I really want is a home of my own.

And I have wanted this for years now. Maybe three. Four I think.

Since no one in my family has just lived on their own without the excuse of work or marriage, I always knew it would be something of a shock for my family to handle. If I were living separately in the same city, to them it would mean as good as family breaking apart.

After holding myself back for so many years keeping family's interest and lack of funds in mind, I now have all the courage to move out without being pulled back to oblige emotional ties.

According to my sister, it is not pragmatic what with my tiny pay package and the array of responsibilities that being independent calls for none of which I have any commendable experience in.

I say, so be it.

I realized the other day that what I get and what I have asked for may not exactly by the same. But what I get will be quite close to what I want. What I want will not come at once. Plans have to be made and followed upon. Patience has to be maintained. And maybe someday my place will be just as I had wanted it to be. And between now and that someday, all that which may come across might be disappointing. It might push me to the point of frustration. I might find that I am drowned in a pool of hurdles of everyday life. But that's just fine. All that I can take. I can face it all and overcome it. That's hardly anything. Seriously, it is no big deal. It is something I and all of us have constantly tolerated and played with since the beginning. What I am afraid of is to want small. To want less because more seems impossible. What if I start dreaming petty? There will be nothing to move to. Nothing to pine for. Nothing to do anything for. How will I ever fix that?