The mandatory annual senti post

There are some days when I stand back and ask myself some hard questions...

Like:

“Just what the hell are you doing on this planet?”

“What is the whole damn purpose of your existence?”

“Name ONE useful thing you have done in your life! Just one!”

“You told yourself you’d be a millionaire by 25. How many zeroes to go?”

“Will you ever say ‘I love you’ to a girl?”

And finally, as a dear friend put it eloquently, after a nice booze session, “WHO WILL DIE WHEN YOU CRY?”

It’s not often that this happens, but when it does, the answers are not comforting at all. These questions, they sting. They remind me of the utter useless of burdening this fragile little rock circling the sun with my seventy plus kilograms.

It’s on days like these that I prefer to lie in my bed and sleep off. Because in my dreams, I am the king of all I survey, and there are no little voices asking uncomfortable stupid questions.

And therefore I slept today. The entire day. Woke up only to answer phone calls from people who tried to assure me that I was not as useless as I imagined.

And oh, also stayed awake to watch Roger make history. Although I am an out and out Rafa fan, this still feels special. 14 Grand Slams!!! That’s the second historic thing to happen on June 7.

The first, of course, if you haven’t guessed by now, is that it is the birthday of the most useless person on earth. An event that was heralded with mandatory cutting of cake, mandatory kicking of butt, and mandatory giving of treat.

Now, normally, I consider myself a very pragmatic person. And little voices in my head have often questioned the futility of celebrating an event in which I had no influence on, where I played no part in bringing it about, where I can claim no credit of making it happen, you get the drift...

But somehow, birthdays always make me go full senti. I become all nostalgic, reflect on how lucky I am etc., Strangely, this time around, all I have been thinking about is how I haven’t done anything useful in all the 26 years of my existence.

I guess this is what happens when you grow older. You go from wishing for Ferraris to questioning your self worth. Thankfully, a little voice in my head tells me “But kids don’t have to be useful.”

And , I sooooo don’t feel grown up. Because I am not. And probably, never will be.

Cheers to that!!!

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PS: Note to self: Never blog after multiple rounds of Old Monk. Your writing, even when you are sober, is indecipherable.

PS2: People, if you can't make sense of this post, blame it on the fact that I am slightly drunk. And fully senti.