How Much Should A Tall 7 Year Old Boy Weigh That Good, Old-Fashioned Existential Angst

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That Good, Old-Fashioned Existential Angst

Do not worry. Lambasting or playing myself is my innate specialty! And this essay, I dare say, is an intimate, casual confessional of a cock and a bull. Don’t take it too seriously, ever!

In the halcyon days of my youth, I was constantly under the spell of my personal musings (insane at best!), mind waves (wildly short-circuited!) and first-impression polaroids (miserably blurry!). I thought that these were tried and true things and that by using these seemingly useful constructs I could make my life – worthwhile and triumphantly interesting. But life, to put it cheerfully, quickly caught up with me.

Year after year, as life unfolded on its own, I realized to my belated surprise that I must have been way off the mark from the start. Added to that conundrum, the absence of empirical evidence and lack of role models in the past only heightened my existential angst that was left to plow through the seemingly unfathomable depths of useless drawings and noodles. Today, regardless of how I feel about my life, I’m still chasing it and will continue to do so until the day I die. It’s a ghost, you say? I suppose. We’re on the same page.

Perceptually speaking, my life created in the city did NOT turn out to be what I thought it would be; rather, it is increasingly incredibly individualistic, particularly undramatic and flat-lined, and typically far less romantic now; is this happening for the first time after marital ecstasy? Tell me, I have no idea. Time, of course, takes its toll; it demands its pound of flesh, and I’ve realized over the last few years that being constantly romantic doesn’t leave enough room in the heart to enjoy serious creative pursuits, such as reading, writing, or romanticizing the past. So I eagerly volunteered to be an occasional sober romantic, not a 24/7/365 romantic. I could be completely wrong on that thought process for all I know, however, it’s the thing I’m putting my stock in right now. intermittent romantic? However.

Tell me, could these thought processes be essentially a collection of strange reflections of what is happening to me right now and maybe because of this predicament where my life is going south? But by what invisible element do I need to know? Have I jumped forward in time and prematurely become an old man on a mission so useless that it obscures my original romantic genealogy by which people have always known me and therefore this existential suffering that comes as a bittersweet consequence? That can be a legitimate assumption, yes. Regardless, I can’t articulate for sure if I’m trying to masquerade as someone who’s barely out of their enclosure to try and get attractive chicks into pre-coitus fun. Nah! I don’t think so. I’m not up to that wicked diversion, never have been. Now I call myself a casual romantic, remember? No regular ECAs (‘extracurricular activities’) for me, please. I’m satirizing this whole thing to see how funny or serious it can get.

Indeed, a while back I was giving everyone a run for their money in the ‘Heights and Looks’ department and I’m happy to boast that I still manage to give them a good run of the rabbit! Hardly anyone is inclined to toot their own horn, but please imagine this: women constantly flattered me that I was so classically tall and handsome, sleek, that they thought I was sculpted by Michelangelo himself, girls screamed at me, sometimes people barge in at the walls looking at me, clicking my photos, and literally complimenting me from my aquiline nose to my pretty toenails! I enjoyed their attention, but at one point it really became completely insane to deal with all the fanatical attention I received. Gosh, I loved acknowledging their compliments by forming words like “thanks, say that again!” in my mouth like a strawberry and just go on your way with a spring in your step, happy to HAVE ARRIVED! Like many things in life, beauty is rare, but my kind of gorgeous beauty is priceless. Take heart my dear, I haven’t joked in years!

In today’s ‘similar’ stimulating world of Facekindle, Oblitteratti or Junkedin, it’s easy to get caught at the foot of the ever-present scorn of instant trolls and all such horrible, self-destructive things that interweave the fantastic and the mundane, the bizarre and the dangerously mental, and so on, like it’s nothing unusual to worry about. Obviously then it gets cruelly boring for old-school people like me whose primary devotion to love, tranquility and happiness is somehow well-regarded by the same horrible world that, against the dark backdrop of race riots, fascism and paranoid doom and foreboding, turned out to be angry and furious and shows no signs of letting up anytime soon. That’s what life has become: completely toxic. Sadly, the days of invigorating happiness are now completely gone – long live those days; The irony of all this overall retardation is that it no longer makes sense to be gorgeously handsome when you only have a return bus ticket and no BMW in a world boiling over with protests and more violent protests of various shades. Basically, I’m done fixing temperamental cats and all with my scent pheromones for boys. I may not be George Clooney to say that much, but I’m good looking enough to not let anyone fool me and get away unscathed. I’m still not done with that thread, but I have to stop bulldozing on these lines. Now, before you bash me, read this: Elvis has left the building!

Life: Not for pussies

This brings me to why Life is not a fair thing for fame and why an awful lot of things like bad luck and twists of fate/destiny/kismet happen in a flash and why today I have to play the victim card in order to perfectly save my butt sandwich from grinding in the heated politics of those haves and have nots. I wonder if this is what existential angst actually means, although it could be a natural response system to one’s imagined loss and suffering that never really ends or hopefully will one day. I believe I shouldn’t be jumping to wild conclusions now, so let me digress a little while I’m at it, swept away in the sandstorm of hasty feelings that angst and senseless gravitas of this trivial, cathartic writing!! ! The wind remains in the sails to go a little further. So come with me.

Well, I come from one of the southern regions Deccan Plateau peninsular India where huge boulders, unique rocks and rugged hills, slopes and inclines dot a laid-back cityscape that, to me, often manages to signify heartbreak and technical stagnation and being stuck between a rock and a hard place. I may be still young, but I have been there, you see, to know such a hidden thing. Being 45 and over certainly doesn’t seem like a juvenile age group anymore, so I claim to know such things.

So chew on this. After college, my life’s trajectory was headed south. I wanted to give up towards the east, but unfortunately it was not to be. Perhaps I was a little off target from the very beginning and so, in the mad rush of life events, I failed to hit the proverbial widest possible limit: not to do something worthwhile in the direction of my medical dream coming true. So I faltered at his altar, wanting desperately to go on, but I couldn’t. For what reasons do I feel so much existential distress/dread/crisis about this long-forgotten matter? It’s supposed to die down eventually, right? That’s a big question and so this blog should answer it satisfactorily and come to an end. If data is the new oil then I’m all for it. No wonder I’m in the information technology (IT) era with knowledge talents and people like me are dismissed as “technicians” or “geeks“, talented or more talented or not in the least!

Medicine is not for everyone

Reading this article may seem like I’m trying to sell the idea that I have an “existential angst” that never leaves me, or it’s just a passing muse, or maybe there’s actually a sense of purpose I want to talk about here. No dear, don’t try to give me my tissue yet. I may be emotional, but I’m fine, I assure you. Call it the herd mentality or the confused mentality, I must have ended up harboring an angry feeling that I was still frustratingly unhappy that I hadn’t achieved what I thought I would when I was much younger, and now I’m trying to get this hellish feeling of remorse to break free, either by hook or by crook, but he cannot, he does not die a natural death.

To be honest, I wanted to become a medical professional, say a medical specialist (don’t roll your eyes yet!), but I didn’t realize that the concept or idea, although very vague I admit, I had so many years of nurturing care evaporated shortly after I graduated from the university with natural subjects. I loved Zoology and Botany, but I couldn’t develop enough willpower in myself to tackle the rough and tumble horrible entrance exams. As I now fully realize, just thinking about becoming a doctor was one thing, actually becoming one was quite another. Better now than never. How hard was it for this numbskull to get that? Only it didn’t. If I had known a little in advance how to solve this puzzle of becoming a medical professional, then I think I could have changed my world from upright bottom to down upright or something like that. Yes, if only I knew how to get off my sorry ass and do it the way it’s meant to be done, I’d be a two-time president of the United States or a ten-time crowned monarch of Great Britain. But no such luck, because I was trapped in the maze of a daily but happy existence, and this happened despite the fact that I actively dreamed (actively even thought) about living the life of a doctor. Try not to throw rotten tomatoes at me just yet. However, if you have fresh, you can try! Just bear with me on this one.

Some people say “Medicine is not for everyone.” That may be true; unless you can commit to the stresses and strains of hard work, effort, determination, endless personal struggles, and a zillion other things that weigh down your every waking day of your life, until you reach medical nirvana. As for my fantasy of medicine as a career option, I think my goose was already cooked without participation when I confused the ‘hobby’ with ‘career’ thing due to lack of awareness and decent go-get bait -That’s passion on my part, I suppose. I don’t know where I was when God was handing out gray matter (the brain) to pleasant individuals like the one from whose pen you read this freewheeling parody that goes front and center. Most likely I was taking a bath or taking an extended siesta under that exquisite, trusty beige three blade oriental fan, anchored in the vast expanses of blissful pleasure and ease of blissful humiliation of my bedroom.

And so I became entangled in the regularly spinning Wheel of Time, this lone bewildered soul wandering the ever-expanding galactic space of the Universe with no apparent gift (Mage?) for making prophecies of the near future. The man simply could not think of a way out of his own abyss. I thought my crazy days were over, but not yet as I painfully realized now, albeit too late. Now I know why I still feel like a tourist in my place!

Post script: More on this topic in my next blog. Stop by whenever you can and I’ll serve it up to you, piping hot!

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