Lost ball point pens.

I came up with a cool new metaphor for life.

Considering the theory that history merely repeats itself (“its all been done before, nothing under the sun is truly new” -pessimistic thoughts  along those lines) I’m pretty sure the metaphor is neither cool, nor new after all. But this is my blog and I reign supreme here.  I can talk like a douchy philosopher all I want and get away with it. Anyway, you are only a proper teenager if you think deep and then feel proud about your supposed insightfulness. ( and then promptly feel pathetic for feeling proud about it later on but thats another story altogether.)

So. Given the occupational hazards of my current life stage and associated identity conflicts, I’d like to vent out my adolescent contemplations, all in good faith, sans pretentiousness. I hope.

Here is what I thought of- You know how in the middle of an important phone call, when the addressee is about to give you some very  important information which you need  to note down, you inevitably fail to find a single one of your reliable ball point pens and then you scramble around in the room in a flurry only to discover that you were sitting on one all along?

Well, at the risk of sounding like a total cliche, that is life.

When it matters the most, when you finally get your “calling” (I love puns) there is no hope or reassurance in plain sight and so, of course, you feel utterly lost. But the cool part is that, more often than not, its with you all along. Its just lost under the weight of all your insecurities and fears (in the analogy, your butt.)

I think there is something to this idea. Its is essentially what all these YA books are all about, right? The treasure lies in self discovery. The flurry of panic is unavoidable but then its also the fun part. You get to run around the room like a loony searching for your pens and instead find a hundred other things that you forgot about with nostalgic surprise. A quest for meaning.

In the end you laugh at yourself for being so ignorant, finally note down the all important information and swear to carry a pad of post-its and pens at all times.  In essence, all is well that ends well. (Well, unless the caller is an asshole and he hangs up but lets stay optimistic here.)

What I’m trying to say  is that we learn from our mistakes and we grow. We fumble and we laugh. 

So panic all you want, you’ll probably figure it out in the end.

This especially applies to all the confused almost-college students like me. And to everyone else who bothers to read this. 

Thats it. I think. Cool and new right? Told you. I’ll now do math for CLAT because its a nightmare.

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