Firsts.
22:06 eh?
Not too bad a time to get home I suppose, but I don't have the same energy in me anymore. Unlike most people, for me work has not been a means of escape from the reality of a dysfunctional household or distraught emotion. It was not even to be the most loaded guy in my above-average neighbourhood.
Heck, I love my job; but I wish I wasn't so fatigued every night or that the soreness in my knee would just bugger off. I'm only thirty five for Chrissake, even though the bald patch may call a few more years on me. I need to return those damn hair-creams and get a house a few floors below 12th. The commercials will have you believe anything, I tell you. It could make a homeless guy buy a WiFi router.
I shouldn't have taken the one-too-many cigarettes Bob handed to me. These office smoke breaks are awful, especially for a guy trying to quit. That's the thing about quitting though, it's only a conscious effort until one actually quits-- which never happens. And if it does, he wasn't hooked on to it right.
Summer of '97 was when I started smoking. Good ole' Jane gave me my first cigarette, after which I coughed and gasped like a drowning bird. But she was a pro, Jane was. A whole eight months older than me but she was blowing ringlets out of her beautiful lips and steep patches of smoke through her nose. Coming to think of it, she was my first of everything.
I can't forget the night when we jumped gate, faked ID's, drank and smoked all night. We were surrounded by tiny hill-tops, a setting moon and a shiny lake. I was freaking out over slippery gravel, and she kissed me. Just like that, she pecked me on the lips like it was no big deal. And although it was majorly scotch and tobacco, it was like fire and frigid ice numbing my senses and making them alive, all at once and all too soon; and it was the most beautiful high I had ever felt. Then, we just lay there, in the dry grass amidst mosquitoes, while she sang one of those Rolling Stones tracks. "Music" these days is never what it used to be. Pop culture and MTV have lifted my hopes from this generation.
Her father owned a record shop, so she could afford to have a good taste in music. But poor thing just could not sing. I liked that she did though, not to sound good or anything, but because she really enjoyed the music. Personally, I was just glad I would never have to make her a mixed tape.
Although, she never cared for the ritualistic and not in the hipster way either. She really didn't believe in the accepted thing to do. "Mainstream" she would call it and come up with rituals of her own. She would say that everybody was different, with different mistakes and different lives, so nobody should be expected to do something that was right for someone else. Most people found it a little odd, but she didn't really care. She was pretty carefree, in her manner too. She laughed like a hyena until she turned blue and wore just about anything she pulled out of her closet. But everybody seemed to love her. It's a thing about this world-- if a successful person is funny, almost anybody would eat right out of their hand, especially if it were a pretty girl.
As far as prettiness goes, Jane did okay. She had a crooked nose and straight eyebrows. Her lips were not the biggest deal in the school and her hair was always out of place. But she had these big hazel eyes, that could convince Hitler to pet a kitty. She was charming as the devil himself, more so in all her imperfections and vices. I had begun falling for her harder and deeper, with every joint of weed, with all the math she taught me, with every lingering kiss, with every tonight spilling into a tomorrow.
And shortly after, she was to be the first to break my heart. She just came in front of me one winter night, and said she couldn't see me anymore. I didn't ask her why and she didn't tell me. I just let her go, into her little twisted world of reasoning, where everything was graphed out and she was free to break her own rules. I could call her an insensitive hypocrite but I knew she only ever did something with good intent, and nobody could hold her against that. She was a hypocrite in her own right, much like absolutely everybody else; but no more than anybody else.
I learnt my most valuable lessons from Jane, to be passionate about learning and loving and living and will never forget that. But that's maybe because she was my first, and much like in case of all firsts, one can never forget them. They are the manifestation of a lifetime of hopes and most inevitably, they end up not being as good. But they are the best, simply because they ever happened and that is what makes them unforgettable.
Look at me bothering about heart break and firsts. With over 7 billion people in the world, I wonder if my thoughts, wants and needs could change anything at all. We are all tiny inconsequential particles, with inconsequential beginnings that will change nothing in the larger scheme of things. Infinite galaxies of stars collide every second, and this continuum keeps extending into larger infinities. One tiny planet, within one tiny galaxy, with a minute population of seven billion people, with seven billion beating hearts, hopes and dreams, surviving, competing, getting better, having a meal or finding love. And I am just one of those.
"Honey! When did you even get home? I just put the kids to bed. Go wash up, I'll heat dinner", my wife says. I look at her, my beautiful wrinkled wife. The calmness in her face makes me forget the exhaustion in every inch of my body, and I get up to embrace her. "Did you smoke? You stink of cigarettes. That shirt would need more than a couple of washes..", she says and laughs at the little joke that I didn't understand. "Hey! Don't blame me, you gave me my first cig..", I retort and kiss her smile.
One can never forget their firsts, and fortunately, I never have to.
Not too bad a time to get home I suppose, but I don't have the same energy in me anymore. Unlike most people, for me work has not been a means of escape from the reality of a dysfunctional household or distraught emotion. It was not even to be the most loaded guy in my above-average neighbourhood.
Heck, I love my job; but I wish I wasn't so fatigued every night or that the soreness in my knee would just bugger off. I'm only thirty five for Chrissake, even though the bald patch may call a few more years on me. I need to return those damn hair-creams and get a house a few floors below 12th. The commercials will have you believe anything, I tell you. It could make a homeless guy buy a WiFi router.
I shouldn't have taken the one-too-many cigarettes Bob handed to me. These office smoke breaks are awful, especially for a guy trying to quit. That's the thing about quitting though, it's only a conscious effort until one actually quits-- which never happens. And if it does, he wasn't hooked on to it right.
Summer of '97 was when I started smoking. Good ole' Jane gave me my first cigarette, after which I coughed and gasped like a drowning bird. But she was a pro, Jane was. A whole eight months older than me but she was blowing ringlets out of her beautiful lips and steep patches of smoke through her nose. Coming to think of it, she was my first of everything.
I can't forget the night when we jumped gate, faked ID's, drank and smoked all night. We were surrounded by tiny hill-tops, a setting moon and a shiny lake. I was freaking out over slippery gravel, and she kissed me. Just like that, she pecked me on the lips like it was no big deal. And although it was majorly scotch and tobacco, it was like fire and frigid ice numbing my senses and making them alive, all at once and all too soon; and it was the most beautiful high I had ever felt. Then, we just lay there, in the dry grass amidst mosquitoes, while she sang one of those Rolling Stones tracks. "Music" these days is never what it used to be. Pop culture and MTV have lifted my hopes from this generation.
Her father owned a record shop, so she could afford to have a good taste in music. But poor thing just could not sing. I liked that she did though, not to sound good or anything, but because she really enjoyed the music. Personally, I was just glad I would never have to make her a mixed tape.
Although, she never cared for the ritualistic and not in the hipster way either. She really didn't believe in the accepted thing to do. "Mainstream" she would call it and come up with rituals of her own. She would say that everybody was different, with different mistakes and different lives, so nobody should be expected to do something that was right for someone else. Most people found it a little odd, but she didn't really care. She was pretty carefree, in her manner too. She laughed like a hyena until she turned blue and wore just about anything she pulled out of her closet. But everybody seemed to love her. It's a thing about this world-- if a successful person is funny, almost anybody would eat right out of their hand, especially if it were a pretty girl.
As far as prettiness goes, Jane did okay. She had a crooked nose and straight eyebrows. Her lips were not the biggest deal in the school and her hair was always out of place. But she had these big hazel eyes, that could convince Hitler to pet a kitty. She was charming as the devil himself, more so in all her imperfections and vices. I had begun falling for her harder and deeper, with every joint of weed, with all the math she taught me, with every lingering kiss, with every tonight spilling into a tomorrow.
And shortly after, she was to be the first to break my heart. She just came in front of me one winter night, and said she couldn't see me anymore. I didn't ask her why and she didn't tell me. I just let her go, into her little twisted world of reasoning, where everything was graphed out and she was free to break her own rules. I could call her an insensitive hypocrite but I knew she only ever did something with good intent, and nobody could hold her against that. She was a hypocrite in her own right, much like absolutely everybody else; but no more than anybody else.
I learnt my most valuable lessons from Jane, to be passionate about learning and loving and living and will never forget that. But that's maybe because she was my first, and much like in case of all firsts, one can never forget them. They are the manifestation of a lifetime of hopes and most inevitably, they end up not being as good. But they are the best, simply because they ever happened and that is what makes them unforgettable.
Look at me bothering about heart break and firsts. With over 7 billion people in the world, I wonder if my thoughts, wants and needs could change anything at all. We are all tiny inconsequential particles, with inconsequential beginnings that will change nothing in the larger scheme of things. Infinite galaxies of stars collide every second, and this continuum keeps extending into larger infinities. One tiny planet, within one tiny galaxy, with a minute population of seven billion people, with seven billion beating hearts, hopes and dreams, surviving, competing, getting better, having a meal or finding love. And I am just one of those.
"Honey! When did you even get home? I just put the kids to bed. Go wash up, I'll heat dinner", my wife says. I look at her, my beautiful wrinkled wife. The calmness in her face makes me forget the exhaustion in every inch of my body, and I get up to embrace her. "Did you smoke? You stink of cigarettes. That shirt would need more than a couple of washes..", she says and laughs at the little joke that I didn't understand. "Hey! Don't blame me, you gave me my first cig..", I retort and kiss her smile.
One can never forget their firsts, and fortunately, I never have to.
WoW :)
ReplyDeleteBeautiful ! :)
ReplyDelete