It’s wedding season in our family. Can’t say I hate it. It’s not always the smoothest from start to finish, but somehow, by the end of the two or three (or thirty) days, we’re all a little high and happy.
Sadly, my cousin’s at school, so at 11 am, I find myself alone, with three year olds running all around me, and I have several hours to waste.
The last few months, I have been on a beautiful, albeit absolutely terrifying soul searching expedition, and all I can think about it how blessed I am to be living life as I am now. I have my best friends to keep me company as we throw our stupid ideas into the world and have fun in the process. My extended family, who I love to death (sometimes I very much would like to wish they were dead), is so much FUN to be around, although not necessarily when the only thing they talk about it when and who’s getting married next. Apparently, I’m not that far down the line. Even though I haven’t been sharing as much on this blog, I have been very active elsewhere in the online writing world. That said, it has been extremely, extremely emotionally exhausting, and I’m hoping this weekend will be a good enough break for me.
On three different occasions I found myself searching an entire hall for my shoes and each time it was in a place that I HAD NOT LEFT IT IN. Pre-wedding bday is getting increasingly chaotic.
With lunch done now, things have subsided a little. I’m about to go to my cousin’s and get ready for the evening, which people say is when the real fun will begin. My family’s claims have a reputation of being dubious.
This side of the city is and always will be the most romantic aspect of the city. Everything about the people, and the slightly dusty but sweet smell of the air rings so vibrantly to the idea of home I have in my head. Everything is novel, but in a way that, after countless experiences, I’ve gotten pleasantly accustomed to.
As we passed by all the college buildings in Osmania, I had a rush of memories flood back way back from fifth grade. My friends and my seniors had come to EFLU for a student project, and I remember it being one of the coolest experiences of my pre-middle school life. A couple of years earlier, I had visited my cousin at the university, and I remember being utterly amazed by the scale of the arts college. It looked like a mix between an amusement park and something out of Harvard, astonishing in scale and intricacy.
Now, as we passed the same building at 11 in the night, and students still huddled together in close groups around the building, I couldn’t help but notice how old it was.
I am a fan of chaotic energy. I am a creature of spontaneous inspiration, I thrive in unexpected situations and I feel alive, uncertain of what’s to come and what I can do.
I am not a fan of chaos.
It is one of the few things that I am truly, deeply, afraid of. Chaos. Ruin. The constant awareness that the ground that holds us all up could begin to tremble at any moment, whether or not we are to blame. Some might consider it romantic. I’d very much like such people to go to hell. It is worse than death. It’s oblivion.
I think a lot of what I’ve been thinking about for the last three months has to do with this fear. There is so much on my mind that I want to say and do, but every time I try to do something, a brick hits me in the face, reminding me that anything could go wrong at any moment, and I will have to take responsibility, even if I’m not responsible.
As music played through my ears and we drove past the Arts College, a ray of hope flashed through me. I saw that somehow, against all odds, we as a species have so far done a good job of dealing with this chaos. We embrace ruin, learn to live with it, and create a life we deserve to enjoy. And, even if for a while, I felt a little hope surge in me.