I want to be my very own human experiment. Growing up never feels like it follows a linear narrative. It is quite circular, as a matter of fact, and the events can never be explained through a causal mechanism.
Growing up is quite convoluted.
I will leave home soon. I will leave this semi-painful house with these stained walls. Soon I will say goodbye to the floor where I sleep every Sunday night, listen to my favourite song and cry about how this feeling isn’t what growing up should feel like. Soon, I will say goodbye to the mirror that has seen me love different versions of myself every six months. I think I will have a family this time. I think I will have people I can trust with my heart. I hope they understand that even amidst their mockery, I find comfort. And yet, I still feel lonely every day. I don’t understand romance. Maybe I never will, maybe I don’t want it anymore. Constant abandonment has led to a persisted form of bewilderment. Constant loneliness has led to a persisted form of distorted self-perception.
I long for when I don’t have to rest my head on these tear-stained pillows anymore. I long to forget the smell of alcohol and the sounds of their insults and regrets. And yet, I will miss them. I will miss my mother. I will miss my father. After all, I am the product of my mother’s sacrifice, of my father’s remorse. I am the product of dinner table arguments. But I realise that I am the product of my shortcomings, of the chances I never took, and my experiences, or maybe even the lack thereof.
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I long for peace. I long for more family. I long to be cared for. I long to care for.
I want to fly on the highway again. I want to hit speed breakers, fly through puddles and the muddy water drench our clothes, clean our dirty souls.
Soon, I will have to find a new home to weep in, to evolve and experiment in. Soon, I will make a new family. I hope they know who they are. I hope they are okay with me building a home in their heart.
I will not let this chance go to waste. I don’t want to understand the circularity of this narrative. I don’t want to waste time trying to understand anymore. I just want to live, and for this melancholy to go away. I want to be my very own human experiment. I want this experiment to fail a hundred times before it succeeds.
Ansuya Mansukhani is an undergraduate student of Liberal Arts in Pune. She expresses herself through writing and enjoys reading, cooking, photography and everything ordinary.
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