“I read Von Gogh’s biography in two days.
And learn more about the mysteries of my own life than about his. All the things that have never made sense to me before—why I never feel comfortable when I m with the ‘in’ crowd, why I always stick up for the underdog, why I don’t lust after the things that make most of my friends happy, why the evening sky has made me feel melancholy and lonely for as long as I can remember, why certain songs have a heart-tearing effect on me—all of these suddenly become clearer.”
These are the words I borrowed from the novel I am currently reading—First Darling of the Morning. I felt as if these are the words describing me… and after reading trough half of the book I had the same realization as Thrity(the protagonist of the novel)—I have long been a misfit in this world of ‘sane’ people. This book has actually made me ‘learn about the mysteries of my life’.
Once someone asked me to follow my heart and I had replied that I do and as an example I said that I while away my time when I don’t feel like studying. But now I ask myself, “is that all what I would call following my heart? Am I enjoying the freedom of obeying my heart reverently?”. The answer comes as a big NO. The reason – I have been taught the ‘virtue’ of abiding by the apparent norms of the society and these preaching have their root so deep inside me that I can’t just get away with it even though I want to and I am forced to do certain things that my heart rebels against…
Why do I behave myself when I actually want to do something crazy? Why do I dress soberly when my I in-fact want to wear something a bit sexy? Why can’t I just go to the near-by restaurant-cum-bar and try out some liquor and why do I heed about what the people around me would think if I do that? Why can’t I just spend my holidays doing nothing , without letting mom interfere? Why can’t I just run away when my mom’s friends pester me to get ‘bejeweled’ when they know I hate staying dressed up all the time? Why can’t I just go about distributing money to every poor man I come across without having to worry about what my parents would say about it? Why can’t I go on with my notion of “The Godfather” being boring without everyone giving me a surprised look? Why can’t I continue living in my world of imaginations without being treated as some hideous untouchable creature by one of my friends who would not let me sit near her in the class because I prefer to remain lost in my own thoughts without going on babbling in the class?
Can’t I carry on with my own ways without getting hurt in the process? Can’t I be a bird without being the target of some merciless hunter?
