24th April 2010
For quite some time now, I could feel a churn, a constant churn in my mind. Almost like a turbulence with irritating air pockets. I started calling it stomach butterflies, just the way my Professor from MBA times, Wilson Sir, used to describe the state of having a stage fright. Like a hundred butterflies are flying around inside me, like there is always a shiver even when outwardly I seem calm and normal (read abnormal since normal for me is abnormal). Every night I press my face hard on the pillow and tell myself it will die out after a good night sleep. Every morning I open my eyes and lie on my bed staring at the fan and realize it’s still there, hasn’t died out, hasn’t even slowed down. It’s there, every single day, every single hour.
It’s surprising to see how man, the so-called superpower, in control of every other thing in the universe, fails miserably in taking control of one thing – his own mind. Even when you try to guide yourself through the path to ultimate joy in a normal life, you know the reins are not with you.
I’ve been trying to get through the thick fog which hides what is in my mind. Whether it is a feeling of something going wrong or something right not happening – I can’t tell. All I know is that there’s something deep inside which will keep the butterflies going, for how long, I’m not sure.
I don’t even know if I really hate this feeling or not. As much as I try to get rid of it, I know that’s all I have. Every night after I pray for it to die out, I pull myself back in the 8 hours of not so sound sleep, nurturing the butterflies, just to ensure I don’t end up totally blank and empty. Although unknown, the life beyond the fog is what I long for. Unattainable though, the hope of seeing through the fog is what makes me love this churn.