The low hum of the ceiling fan is soothing. Everything seems like its okay. Maybe I could close my eyes and rest a while. A dark horizon faces me. Several shadows and murmurings cater to the scene. Then, it hits me. Reality doesn’t let me dream. Vestiges of my past re-play, causing a crease between my shaped brows. Was what I did right or wrong? What will he/she think? Maybe I was wrong? But does it matter? I should be feeling good about this. This just didn’t happen. Conversations between me and me are the longest I have ever heard or spoken. It’s so loud; it makes me take hasty decisions just for the decibel level that it’s breaching in my head.
I try to play down the ‘grown up’ tag that’s being thrust on me immediately after I hit my eighteenth birthday. I also don’t want to be a kid. It’s too painful a transformation to go through again; decisions that solely hold you responsible, no matter how clueless you are about the consequences.