Like most of my recent journals, this piece too has been
overdue, overprocessed, and a nagging to-do item on my mind for weeks now. And
so, I have had many thoughts to talk about here, but now it is all so jumbled
up that I am not sure how it is going to turn out. I particularly dislike when
I start writing in such an apologetic manner; what I instead like to read when
opening up a document is a narrative from the start that connects my mind to
itself and thrusts me into another dimension. Listening to David Allen on Tim’s
podcast during my walk last evening, I came across the ‘grief and relief’ that
a person goes through when he pens down all the things that he has been wanting
to do. The relief comes from finally having a list of things, neatly written down,
that have been burdening up on your mind, the grief, however, comes from not
having done them. This realization that you’ve an agreement with yourself about
something that you haven’t been able to get done, results in a lower self-esteem.
Allen’s elaboration on this point gave an even deeper look into the problem of
having so many things on your to-do list: every item on your list is oblivious
of time, and therefore your mind treats each item as ‘urgent’ or ‘next in line’
twenty-four hours a day. So, while you are doing one thing, you are not doing
many other things, which you may not even know, thus resulting in regret and
shame and frustration. This journal entry has been that thing which have been
nagging at me, while I have been busy doing other tasks, which in themselves,
haven’t been any easier on me either.
The date for departure is usually set, or at least the due
date, which you want to avoid by leaving a few days earlier. But sometimes,
there isn’t any particular date, because there isn’t any particular reason, for
leaving. Maybe it is an extended holiday, or an uncertain amount of leave, yet
staying at one place for too long isn’t the option either. On even more
problematic cases, you don’t have a reason to be anywhere for any specific
period of time. You are jobless, you are not studying anywhere, you are not
seeking a job either, you don’t have any usefulness at home, you are just stuck
between two places, being on either side is just as bad and confusing. ‘Every
place I go, I miss another place’ says Ben Joe from If Morning Ever Comes. But
this here isn’t just a matter of missing, as it might be in the college days,
but something much more existential, serious, and elderly worrying.
The dreadfulness of leaving one place in these cases is more
amplified. But the content of the discomfort of leaving are always the same,
except in few cases where one leaves on weeks of holiday with friends, in which
case the dread is instead a merry excitement. Why am I leaving? You might ask
yourself as you prepare to decide to leave, after a healthy and long stay one
place. (Why am I writing in third person where this is clearly a personal
case?). For no particular reason, other than I have to. Soon, other people join
in, asking the same question. There, you have to come up with more convincing
answers, even if you have to make things up. But lying only reinforces the fact
that your departure is totally pointless, that it shouldn’t have been, that it
could’ve been any other time, and so on.
Cutting the ticket is finalizing a decision that really has
no ground beneath it. Living sometimes might feel this way, a groundless,
involuntary, merely mechanical decision to keep existing. But at least the
ticket defines a clear distinction between now and then, between here and
there, by giving oneself a specific time, a line to draw. The earlier the
better, because cutting the ticket early ensures you a seat of your choosing,
the only comforting thing in an otherwise nightmarish experience of in-cities
bus ride. The packing is next in line; again, earlier the better, because then
you have time to keep adding things and making sure you don’t forget anything.
It also helps you dissipate the frustration that comes from packing, since
there are always too many things to pack than you thought there’d be, by giving
you a few days to just relax and focus on other aspects of your departure.
The countdown, then, officially begins, where against the
traditional marking off of days, dates, or hours, one finds oneself counting
the mornings and evenings. Oh, so I am leaving the day after tomorrow, which
means that I will get to wake up right here one more time, but sadly though,
that will be my last time. Or, tomorrow will be my last waking up here, the
morning after that I will be in the bus, only slightly relieved that the long
and arduous journey is about to end. You also count meals: how many have I left
and how can I distribute them between outside and in. When can I have that last
meal together with friends outside, ensuring that the last meal, or meals, I
should have at home. Or when can I get to eat alone by myself, that favourite
dish of mine from here, for the last time.
The evening finally arrives – evenings because I don’t
travel in the morning – and you’ve said most of your goodbyes and you’re pretty
much ready, mentally that is, to leave. Which doesn’t you mean you don’t feel
reluctant. You just know that the time has come and you have to leave. Dinner
could be tricky. Do you eat it now and favour yourself a undisturbed ride throughout,
without having to get down for dinner at midnight, but also increasing the
chances of throwing up; or you take your dinner with you, and choose to eat it
if really hungry, or just leave it off and sleep – thereby having your final
favourite meal in the other city, which it nice. Then finding a ride, or one
you had already booked, to take you to the station: the luggage, the ride fare,
and getting in the stinking bus and settling in your seat, hoping, praying,
that your stomach behaves nicely. Sleeping pills, later on, to ensure that the
longevity of ride is escaped, and to have yourself saved from the unpredictably
loud, smelly, and interruptive situation and passengers on the bus.
On the other side, if it is home, lies less troubles and
usually a favourable time awaiting you. If not home, adjustments have to be
made. Things might be different from the last time you were there, and you
either change them to your likings, or adjust yourself to the surrounding. But
mostly it is a negotiation between the two. It might take a lot of time to
adjust, depending on how much things have changed. The first days, a reverse
pattern of thinking which you went through at home, takes place: where was I
yesterday at this hour, last night I was sleeping in the bus hoping nothing bad
would happen, and so on. Eventually, things would settle down. They would start
to feel normal. But unfortunately, that is not the end of your troubles.
Once the normalcy sets down, the laborious task of
‘making-do’ starts knocking on your consciousness. Making a routine, a form,
and filling that routine with tasks, contents, is not easy when you don’t have
objective activities waiting up for you, like classes or office. How easy do we
find handing ourselves to something that is set, that is exerted from the
outside, that calls to us, rather than putting us in the terrible spot of
finding a calling. Creating activities by yourself for yourself is a highly
difficult, and mostly unsatisfactory business. Although most people might find
it the opposite, those in college or office specially, but to them I say,
imagine having an extended break period, with no recalling date? Subject,
subjective, yourself, being: I tend to find these words and the realities they
represent hugely problematic and mentally draining. Therefore, the discomforts
of leaving extends, if with lessening external problems then with growing
internal ones, into an aftermath which defines how your stay there will be.
Usually, that, there, is your life - being home is only an interlude, a
retreat, an escape, and if extended, a waste, a problem, a scornful deed. When
did it become this way? And how long will it continue to be so?
November 10, 2022