Fresher's Pain
Its a particularly suffocating night, I feel choked to death. Damn Orkut, I feel like just never logging in. It has every possible community to heal your passion, to categorize you as something, some kind of a thing actually. Worse are the albums. One most generally cannot resist the temptations to ogle over them. Atleast I cannot.
I have a lot of odd work to finish tonight, but cant get my mind to work. I must revise all that I learnt in the past 4 weeks, but I feel no punch to get me going. I chanced upon a 5th year's album. "those were the days". It pinched me, it princked me, and now it is stabbing me to death. It so hurts to let go of someone I have known for just 21 months, how will I possibly survive of letting go with whom I'll have by then lived 4 grown up years of my life. It will turn out to be a year of ascetism. I will probably be a hermit.
I will get registered as a 3rd year student on the 19th of the next month. I will actually have become a senior. A SENIOR.
I will get down on the longest platform in Asia all alone. I will carry over my luggage by myself, and step down at my permanent address for the next three years. I shall go and get myself registered with hoards of other girls, who will just be as curious as me to step into a three year old shoe. All that will differ is their curiosity and mine. I will still try to figure out where I am. This place where I have managed to spend two years of begining of my youth, will again become a new place for me. Scholars' Avenue, which seemed yesterday like forever walked upon, will be a new street for me. I will again be a fresher. The institute building will look upon at me as a new structure, every nook and corner eyeing me as a stranger. The next three years will be a new life of sorts, in a new place. I will have a room all to myself. But, a hall day will never again mean a night spent in cleaning and putting it to order. I will bunk meals in the mess again, but they will never mean getting pampered with fresh aloo paranthas 2 a.m. again. I will get up to attend every lecture, I promise, but they will never again mean me be woken up through an hour. I will be up again on stage, but will never mean someone invariably and unconditionally arranging kurtas, shirts, trousers or shoes at an eleventh hour notice again. I will scream out up there in that auditorium again, but it will never mean standing outside the doors to take me off for a change again. Friday evening will never be so desperate again. Birthdays will never mean going out to get a bunch of year roses at midnight again. Stolen afternooons under awinter sun will never mean a brunch at Sahara again. Chilly nights will never freeze on terrace for a clandestine rendevouz again. A 2.2 will never be a 2.2 agin.
Years before I shall be myself again.
I have a lot of odd work to finish tonight, but cant get my mind to work. I must revise all that I learnt in the past 4 weeks, but I feel no punch to get me going. I chanced upon a 5th year's album. "those were the days". It pinched me, it princked me, and now it is stabbing me to death. It so hurts to let go of someone I have known for just 21 months, how will I possibly survive of letting go with whom I'll have by then lived 4 grown up years of my life. It will turn out to be a year of ascetism. I will probably be a hermit.
I will get registered as a 3rd year student on the 19th of the next month. I will actually have become a senior. A SENIOR.
I will get down on the longest platform in Asia all alone. I will carry over my luggage by myself, and step down at my permanent address for the next three years. I shall go and get myself registered with hoards of other girls, who will just be as curious as me to step into a three year old shoe. All that will differ is their curiosity and mine. I will still try to figure out where I am. This place where I have managed to spend two years of begining of my youth, will again become a new place for me. Scholars' Avenue, which seemed yesterday like forever walked upon, will be a new street for me. I will again be a fresher. The institute building will look upon at me as a new structure, every nook and corner eyeing me as a stranger. The next three years will be a new life of sorts, in a new place. I will have a room all to myself. But, a hall day will never again mean a night spent in cleaning and putting it to order. I will bunk meals in the mess again, but they will never mean getting pampered with fresh aloo paranthas 2 a.m. again. I will get up to attend every lecture, I promise, but they will never again mean me be woken up through an hour. I will be up again on stage, but will never mean someone invariably and unconditionally arranging kurtas, shirts, trousers or shoes at an eleventh hour notice again. I will scream out up there in that auditorium again, but it will never mean standing outside the doors to take me off for a change again. Friday evening will never be so desperate again. Birthdays will never mean going out to get a bunch of year roses at midnight again. Stolen afternooons under awinter sun will never mean a brunch at Sahara again. Chilly nights will never freeze on terrace for a clandestine rendevouz again. A 2.2 will never be a 2.2 agin.
Years before I shall be myself again.
posted by Royal Stag at
2:02 AM
2 Comments:
not b4 i get to noe hu u r
"a 2.2 will never be a 2.2 again", for once I don't feel like criticizing your work (I do that on purpose generally).
"Nice and Naive" is the feeling I guess :)
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