.a written note.

That’s the thing with time. One day you’re sitting doing your everyday mundane activity and it hits you. The truth behind this whole thing called life hits you and it hits you hard. All those sayings and philosophies about making the best of your life, enjoying every bit of it and making the fullest of everything — it stands no meaning in this particular moment. It’s a mundane activity with the sound of a prayer from a distant dargah . The typical dark night of 8pm. The time comes to you authoritatively, telling you one day, one day it would all be over. That slowly everything will fade out. The people near you at this moment, you can hear them talking but suddenly it’s all in slow motion. There’s going to come a day they’ll no longer be there. You’re going to wish you made the fullest, that you lived the moment fully, as long as they were there, while they were there. One day as a matter of fact even you’re going to die. The reality hits you. Whatever you have in this v...

Is it about the little things that, according to them, matter? Is it about the daily little struggles you go through with people and relationships you share with them, the struggles of self-esteem or for self in the first place? This is so very chaotic. No, this isn’t a diary, this isn’t a blog. Tonight, I am just writing. Let’s not put a label onto it. I see and feel continuously, daily, that time is running out. This anxiety kills. What do we keep our secrets for? Why are we so scared? How on Earth is it possible to fear things that altogether create one’s world? I’m not confused. I’m just wondering. I could use some writing, but I’ve been terrible at it lately, leave alone gathering appropriate words.