Confessions of an Inactive Brain

I think I was always a big fish in a small pond. In fact I was treated like a gigantic shark in the kiddie pool. Yea, I can keep harping about how much it taught me. They gave me a freaking certificate for student with "leadership qualities". I sat on it with my complacent butt for so long that in retrospect, I can't even count the number of times I made an effort to build upon anything. I mean if I think of putting up a poster in my room, I have to think really hard on what people around me can relate me with. Literature? No. Unfortunately not even that. I could have an F1 obsession. But I chose to follow Vinny Chase's life closely and see him have sex with the hottest women in the world. I mean E didn't even teach me how to be someones best mate. I'm that ridiculously indifferent. I could have a really good taste in music. But I still keep obsessing over Carry out. ' Cause it's me you, you, me, me, you, all night. My preferences about people are so insanely intense and my levels of tolerance have dipped beyond low. I need a hobby. I need to stop worrying about people. I need to have fun with the brilliant occurrences in the world. Sometimes I just need enough material for conversation. When I move out of my college, I'd have to interact with an unfamiliar intellect and I need to start preparing for this. I think this is turning out to be a secret confession. Of my ignorance. Yes, I've said enough to let it be a secret anymore.

After travelling halfway into the tunnel of post-colonialism, I do think that the history of our culture needs to be given a bath. We have this annoying fixation with subalternity and the funny bit is that it's not even a parasite. I think we are not willing to cure the ailment and have now gotten so used to the idea of living with the fever. Am I getting unknowingly used to my unhygienic ignorant self? Before I though about this, I was under the impression that I just needed to get a spa appointment to let my joints breathe in ease. God no. Looks like I'm choking because there's not enough calcium in the bones.

I'm dreading a future that would make have a past as miserable to look at. It would see in my present such disturbing idleness that it would not even bother to give necessary warning.

I need to get to work. I need to build a past in my present which will at least be worthy of being told and recollected. Lest I land up at 50 when I'm 25 years behind it.

No, telling me that your situation is similar will not be adequate consolation. If you are, do something before your brain dies and you won't even be able to frame a perfect speech on its funeral.