Post II

Here I am again, after long deliberations on whether it would be advisable to continue this blog. I know a more sensible person would have thought about this before actually starting the blog, but I, being me, decided to act on the impulse of opening a blog first, thinking there would be plenty of time to rationalize my action later. But, heck, to my surprise, I found that the more I thought, the more unaccountable and irrational my action seemed. Whatever could I have been thinking of when I opened a blog--A BLOG--of my own? Who am I, so important, that I assumed there was some point in adding another one to the millions and zillions of blogs that are already there? And more importantly, what the hell was I going to write about? I have nothing new to offer the world!
Well, pointlessness in my element. So in the end, I decided to write a post about my feeling of pointlessness. I decided to let myself fulfill the task of updating my blog first, and think of a point later. Dunstan Cass-ish, I know. Caring more for "immediate annoyances" than "remote consequences".

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Somehow, after reading Pratiti's blog...I feel comforted. It seems to have given me a purpose for blogging. It made me feel the same way I'd felt when I'd read Anne Frank's Diary, filling me with a sense of unity with all other teenage girls everywhere. Most girls of my age, irrespective of their time(Anne and I belong to two different centuries) and nature(Prat and I have almost nothing in common) share some of the same passions, hopes and fears. I'm no good at enumerating my thoughts, but maybe, once I get used to the concept of blogging, I too might come up with something that will link me to others with the same currents of thought, help me identify me fears and perhaps even fight them, knowing that there are others who battle the same enemy.

Am I making sense?

Maybe not right now, but I probably will, pretty soon. And that's another thing I've noticed in many of my peers, the fear of not making sense. The fear of being different. The fear of having to choose.

Ever stood still at the corridor of one of the SPHS toilets and watched the myriads of girls sailing in an out, in a blaze of colours(though all of them wear the same dress)? And heard them chirping about their various problems, the daily happenings in their lives? "Heck, how do I sit with XYZ all throughout the year? She's a lesbian, I tell you..."(in the tone of declaring the headline of the day), "Don't you DARE tell him,it's just a crush, I'm flirting..."(fishing out a make up box and various kinds of combs from a pink coloured bag), "But this is my deepest secret, dear, promise you won't tell!"(imbecile enough to assume that the toilet is a private place just because it can be locked) "I hate that teacher, did you hear what she said about my skirt length?"(wearing skirts that expose two inches of skin above your knee)....Sometimes, you find it hard to stop yourself from choking when you hear sympathetic comments like, "Yeah, I know how irritating dandruffs are, yaar, tor oily dandruff na dry dandruff? Oily holei toh beshi jhamela!" If we didn't have our classes to attend, I'd spend a few hours everyday standing at the toilet corridor, observing girlhood, hearing their secrets, watching them cry, laugh, let themselves go. Watching them being what they are, what they cannot be outside, the outside that is frequented by boys to impress, teachers to watch out for, and strangers to estrange themselves from. Somehow, no one remains a stranger once you enter the toilet. Not that you suddenly blossom into a girl when you cross the threshold of that place, you are quite as much of a girl outside as you are inside it, but the inherent bonding of trust that exists between all girls suddenly reveals itself, and without noticing it, you become more of a girl than you ever are, outside. Yet, if you simply stand at the corridor, observing, as I do, you're bound to wonder how you can possibly be part of this crowd. You're bound to look for a link that might help you identify yourself as one of them. "Them". As if you're someone different, someone who doesn't really belong there. It's not just me, any other girl in my position would feel the same.

The desire to be different is inherent to everyone, yet the fear of being different is always stronger. To have your choices made for you is unbearable, but to make your own choices is terrifying.

And...what was the point I wanted to make?
Heck! I've forgotten.

"Heck" is my new disease. Probably caught it from Rohan. Very soon, that interjection will grow to be a part of who I am, it will help one to identify me. And Rohan will get lost from it.

I remember a friend of mine saying a few days back, "I know very well who I am". Thank god I don't remember who it was. I'm having an irresistable desire to raise my left eyebrow at that person, and shrivel him by boring my eyes into his.

Heck, i won't apologize, as is the fashion, for boring you. I didn't invite you to read this. Your choice, you take responsibility. GEDDIT? (Now who did I get this from? Devpriyo, I think.)

Okay, mickey's ticking, I have to go. Oh, I wish I DID have a mickey clock!

P.S. Blogging IS fun! I intended to talk about, um, whther I have a purpose in life or not, and I ended up writing about the SPHS girls toilet. Fun! :-D