Probably

I suppose it is all right to feel weak sometimes. 

You've stayed strong for such a long while and it is okay to feel vulnerable. 

I think that makes up for the human part of each individual.

But this is numbing weakness. I don't know the reason. I'm just very tired of all of it. Societies, studies, peer groups, people who bring you down, people who take you up, people who keep talking and never listen, and people who just keep listening, people who never make meaningful conversations and the people who are always philosophical, people who only live to ask women out or the women who live to dress.

The world is so full of activity. Ticking clocks, breathing people, in and out, talking, eating, working, making, baking, and walking. 

It just never stops, you know? 

The world is great and gigantic. 

And the world is mean. Not just to me, the world is mean to one and all, alike. 

It's like I want to change it. I want to make folks realize that being mean brings the whole race down. But I'm also trying to follow it, I am trying to not be mean to people myself. 

People say that life isn't fair. But it is not fair for anyone. 
Perhaps I am an illustration of the fact, one more example of the dogma. I had a group of friends. We were four friends. Parker, Daisy, Yonda, and I. Parker and Yonda are my closest friends. But Yonda was closer to Daisy. They kind of clicked together. That was when Parker was still at Norfolk High. He is my best friend. We don’t converse much, but we still are best friends. I have no idea why, there isn’t any motivation behind the relationship, there wasn’t any. We were just closer to each other than we were to anybody. And we developed in each other’s’ company and my spending time with him became habitual. Now he has gone to countryside and lives there. And ever since Daisy has gone into drugs she has made new friends. She seldom visits me now. I work most of the times so I am not available to talk anyway. And I don't like troubling him when he's chilling with his peers.

I feel alone. Just like how I felt the day Parker shifted to Massachusetts. It was a month back. Summers are still here though. He would be working during this time just like me to earn a living. I got admitted to Harvard Business School but I would only leave after summers. I plan to work here in Norfolk County. Parker occasionally visits. His leaving for Massachusetts was the second lowest point in my life. The lowest was when my sister Angelina went to London Business School, and she only comes once in a year. And when Yonda doesn't visit, those days are also very sad.
And I am tired. Of people's expectations, of people's habit of procrastination. Of thinking about the future and how I would change the world. And how I would like to be successful. And about family issues. About Angelina and about Parker. I am not the same around him these days. He gets upset very easily. I have to be cautious before speaking, walking, talking. And Yonda is just the most remarkable person I have met. He is funny and smart but he is just very complicated. So I prefer listening than talking even when I was the most talkative of the four of us. 

So I feel lonely. There's just so much pressure. And I think about the people who would listen to me without cribbing too much. But Parker said he had work and I was hurt, just a little. But I somehow manage to push those watery streams aside and concentrate on my own work. I work in the Norfolk County library in the weekends and help people sort books out. I love the work and sometimes when nobody’s watching over me, I sneak in to read ‘Crime and Punishment’ by Fyodor Dostoevsky or some business magazines. Apart from that, I also work in Hersheys and Co. as a Junior Accountant on weekdays, and in Devonshire Associates as a Consulting Business Analyst. I am a control freak and when things go out of my hand I get tensed very badly. This is what is happening right now. I have just gotten myself into every job I could find and was proficient and skilled enough of doing. But now it is becoming hectic, not unmanageable but hectic. And my colleagues are so expert in finding silly excuses for not working and taking leaves. I have to do everything on my own and I can't talk to anybody about it. I feel very sad, depressed should I have the liberty of saying. I try to fight the sorrow back by memories. Good cheerful memories. Like the sunny days we sat down in the lawns and talked endlessly. Yonda Parker and I. But the blues are finding their way back into my mind. I just can't forget them. I could talk to Parker about it but he’s busy as he should be. 

I presume Parker and I sacrificed each other on the path of success for him and work on mine. It is just irreversible. 
I receive a phone call from the director and my shift in Hersheys and Co. begins. The thought is distressing. I pack my things in the duffle and swipe my card in the library exit. I think I might want to pass out for a while. But I wouldn't miss the chance of forgetting it entirely. That why I work. To forget the thoughts, the dreams and just work. Dedicatedly, passionately and zealously. 

I guess that's why people keep working. And the world doesn't stop. Everybody is trying to forget whatever they miss and whatever hurt they've been through. As a means of self-escape and to become oblivious of the surroundings.

I wish we were stronger. And I think I know that. I think we are strong enough but don't realize it. And I want to tell people this and let them know that is all right to feel weak sometimes. That it makes up for the human part of us. I want to bring about a rational change in the way we perceive things. In the way we understand emotions and in the way humanity works.

I think I can.

I might.

Probably.

Remembrances and Regrets

"Stop! You're going to hurt yourself! Wait for me, I am right behind you, and you know I'll catch you." said my uncle running after me in my maternal grandpa's house. 

"Would you make food for me then? I don't like aunt's cooking." said the seven year old me. 

"Okay, and I will also put henna on your cute little hands, now stop, will you? Uncle is very tired!" 

I was prepared for my maths exam, and nothing could stop me from getting a perfect hundred. I was going to make everyone proud of me. It was a calm cool spring morning, and I was getting ready for my Mathematics board exam of tenth standard. Suddenly my papa received a call that my uncle who was braving the accident in the hospital, had died. 

I did score full, but there was one less person to make proud. 

And I didn't even visit him. And there wouldn't be anyone who would cook delicious chaat for me back in nanaji's house now. Nobody would spoil me like him anymore. I remember the day when he hugged me and I shrugged him off because hugging was so uncool. He would never come back now. 

A similar thing happened with me in last year's November. I lost a good friend and just a week later, my maternal granddad died. I seldom visited him. I last happened to meet him at a family gathering where my aunt was tying the sanctified thread of marriage. The moment he would be fading, I ponder, he must’ve been contemplating about how I don't care about him and never visited him and don't love him. Most probably not, he was just so loving. But no, I just didn't have the time to talk to him.  My friend would be discerning the same thing. And my uncle too. But I was just too busy with my own life, right? 

I was making, learning, doing things that would make the folks I love the most, proud of me. But never was concerned to really talk and discover it out. How ironic. 

I didn't even see them when they breathed their last breath and they would never know that there was one more person on earth who cared for them. And I would never get to tell them this. They would never know. How would they know unless I tell them? But how can I tell them when they're gone?

I would've been the same Keerti for them.  The Keerti who didn't even see them when they expired. The Keerti who couldn't let them know that she was concerned for them. The Keerti who couldn't even chat with them when she could have. And now they're gone. Far far away, where I won't even find them. Or see them. Or touch them. Or be with them. Or laugh with them.  

If people want to be with you, they make the time to.  I didn't mean to be so full. It wasn't intentional. But that doesn't matter, does it? Nothing matters. It's just me now. My side of the argument. Because they're not here to express their opinion. I want to go tell them that I love them, and that I would spend time with them. And that I would listen to them all the time. I want to meet them. But I can't.

And I don't know who is going to read this entry, since it is not a work of fiction, but I wish they come to know about it. I know they're not here. And it is a loss and I am sorry for it.
But I just want them to know that I love them and miss them and I am never going to forget them.  

I just want them to know, because I think they're there somewhere, maybe waiting for me since I hadn't visited them the last time they breathed, but I want them to know that they were very special for me and would always be. And that I will always miss them. And they would always bring a smile on my face. They were fighters and I will always remember them with great pride. 

I hope they come to know about it, somehow. I hope they forgive me for being too busy. 

I will miss you.

Goodbye.