YOU’RE THINKING TOO MUCH!
I keep wondering what to write.
I thought about a few things I could write, like how the people who ask me if I wrote any new stories are the same people who are too tired to read a new story I just wrote. They don’t admit it but I can sense it when the say, " humm.. Okay" when I ask them if they want to give it a read.
Or something about how I am sad my grandmother is not able to remember my name properly anymore. How she is trying very hard to explain something without remembering what it’s called and in the end just gives up and says,"I am fine, you go..". Or about how she was able to do and remember everything just last month, and it’s as if someone just roughly erased her half of her memory leaving dirty corners for her to fumble through painfully.
How about writing how it’s very hard for me to watch a romantic scene in a movie because it feels like a reminder of how I have always been so alone. The romance scenes feel like betrayal to my existence. How I find it unfair that two people can understand each other when I have to boggle up my thoughts because no one even wants to give my thoughts a chance.
Also thought about writing about how when my mother asks me what’s wrong after seeing me being distraught alone,I have a hard time finding everything I need to express my angst, and when I express all the tiny tiny pieces of the fragments of what I can remember, they don’t add up; they never add up. I end being more distraught than I started and it feels like a dagger is pierced into all those problems shining brightly and laughing at the other miserable thoughts when my mother exerts, "You’re thinking too much.". I pickup the remains of my torn feelings and just lock them up ,so that when I am sad again I can look at the result of exposing them to anyone else not that I have anyone else.
I am also thinking about writing how grandfather is not even able to accept his son’s help and wants to get out, and take his ailing wife with him and live alone because someone told him to. It would be about how one idle minded being could destroy the talking terms between my grandfather and everyone in the household.
How about writing how I really don’t mind this quarantine because it’s not much different from my usual life and in quarantine, I actually feel less lonely.
Or maybe I could write about how my father being brown doesn’t understand the seriousness behind condemning the racial slurs based on the colour of a person. How he thinks it’s fine to call darker skinned people "Kalu" (Hindi for black but in a condescending way). Also maybe about how he laughs at a story depicting darker toned South Asian females as demons, and how in doing that he came out being both racist and sexist.
I also keep thinking about writing about what this uncle said, "Disgusting! These Chinese people eat everything under the sun. How horrible! I even heard they eat cockroaches."
Yes, our family is vegetarian, but that doesn’t stop this uncle from having meat occasionally. What bothers me the most is that, King Ashoka who converted to buddhism, who is the reason for the blue wheel in the Indian flag; ate peacocks and deers before conversion, but no one points to him. When I iterated these thoughts to him, he said, "Then look at the Chinese people too, they eat everything being Buddhist. At least Ashoka stopped." When this happened, I looked at him losing every ounce of my composure. I had to use all of my powers to keep myself from uttering unmentionable slurs.
Wondering about writing how all these people I love make it so hard for me to accept them and like them and how they turn it over by doing something good every now and then. About how easy Disney makes it to be with their one dimensional villains who are always stepmothers or witches but never someone the protagonist actually cares about.
Whatever, I don’t think I am going to follow up on any of these and none of these are real problems. Maybe,
I am thinking too much.
