The only time I ever stop is when I fall asleep. And even then, my mind races through corridors unknown and I busy myself with building my very own castle of dreams. I wake up with my fingers reaching out for my phone before they can rub the sleep sand out of my eyes and I browse through mails, tap on chat screens, scroll through my news feeds until it is time for class. Even then, my fingers keep doodling onto the pages of a book- sometimes notes and sometimes words and figures that make lesser sense than a 2 YO’s babble. I meet people. I love meeting people. I love adapting myself to different conversations. Redirecting the thoughts of said people. As you may have already guessed, I love being the center of the attention. With the world swirling happily around me and I- the eye of the whirlpool. Or so I think.
When you have no time to stop, you sometimes forget to wait for yourself to catch up. A mechanised routine where each day is a surprise. But the regularity of the fast-paced life makes even the surprises boring. Rarely do I sit idle. I can’t seem to remember when this need to be drowning in ‘to-do lists’ began. I assume it was my combat mechanism for homesickness or maybe my answer to ‘fitting in’ in a place that was never home or perhaps, my response to all the years worth of memories I left behind to start a new life. The expectation to excel myself at living life has become this ladder that I am constantly climbing but at each step, I sacrifice a little of my peace of mind. A little on weekdays. A little more on weekends. So much more in the hours that don’t classify as either because I am too busy to give my calendar a glance.
Which reminds me, my calendar is set on January and it is 2:57 A.M of 23rd February. Funny how in the world of indifference, time is my slave. And I am my slave. Walking, laughing, talking, reading, doing so much and yet everything leaves me hollow. Days like today, when I have the time to think, I feel light-headed. The weight of all the memories of my ‘good days’ lifting off to reveal blankness in its place. Nothing. White or black nothingness. And on days like these, I am afraid.
Don’t get me wrong. I have no qualms about life. I lead a very content one at that. Or so it would seem. But deep down, I am not the centre of the whirlpool. I am the hollow, weightless object working its way into the spiralling abyss that is the pit of the whirlpool. For the first time, my to-do list has just one thing on it: