The Doubt That Comes After Graduation

// Image via - Lucien Pellat Finet S/S 2018 //

I wake up to no rain. And by the time I'm done with breakfast, it starts pouring down heavily. I knew the sky was grey so the day would be slow. The patients at my hospital are not rich. They either walk or take public transports, so the pain in their teeth would have to wait till the rain settled down. My father asked me if i needed to go because of the rain. I told him I have to be there, at least, I have given appointments. I have to keep my end of the deal. Father was right, none of the appointed patients came that day but it was ok. Rain can slow things down. Rain can slow life down. Traffic, grocery shopping, breathing, thinking, existing. As if the weight of the clouds pours into our existence in monsoon. Monsoon can be a slow month. Lethargic heaviness everywhere - transferred by the humid air to everything it touches.



For me though, I feel it has invaded my bones in the form of doubt. As our car stops in the rain for the traffic to clear on the narrow road of the bazaar, I look out my window to see the stores shut. Its early morning but the butcher's shop is open. The chicken seller is slashing the necks of the chickens one by one and putting them in this big blue barrel to let them bleed out. The rain water is dripping into the barrel from the tin roof's edge. I imagine the mix of blood, rain and feathers down at the bottom of the barrel. I think about myself. My bones, my blood, and the wings of my mind being weighed down by doubt.

I think too much about myself. I'm selfish with my thoughts. I give my mind too much freedom to jump into the past I've lived. A thing about going through a period where time slows down is that you're somehow transported to the past when you're a selfish thinker. You think about the weight - what's got you down. People say treasures are buried deep inside your mind, what you're looking for is right in there. I wasn't looking for this confusion, but why did I find it? My brother says it's normal for graduates to feel the way I do - it takes time to find a path to choose in life. For me, I think I just want to lie down. But i'm looking for a lavender field with a permanent sunset and my naked soul to sleep with. I'm being unrealistic with my expectations.

Yet, time is passing as I keep yearning for it to stop and give me a clue to when I will get to clean the blood off my wings. It will keep raining. I will keep bleeding. I've never seen a bird fly in the rain. Even flights get delayed as people lounge in the airports with their sunday-bazaar-bought-bags and slightly branded shoes, and breathe themselves out; making the wait weight. I'm one of those passengers waiting for my flight to come. Even the love I have for cinnabon is not enough anymore to keep me distracted from the sticky, tired feeling of just hanging out in this life-like lounge. Sorry, lounge-like life.

When people sit down in lounges and drawing rooms, I try to stay silent and not divulge too much of what my dreams are. In lounges, the air people breathe in matters as much as what they breathe out. The tips of their tongues sonically alter the atmosphere to cause a hurricane of emotions. We all try to hide our wings. Or the lack of. It's more for the safety of our insecurities than it is for the heart. The worldly physical display of our minds is more empowered than the mind itself. Our self image may be shattered, but we try our best to never mirror it in this lounge of hidden self-hate and explicit skepticism. People feed off people's dreams. I never understand why the mind of the peer hunts down the depth at which it can hang its rope and pull down whatever facade the other person has built. I sometimes want to cry when my classmates talk about their jobs. I haven't even started to think about applying for one yet.

I am confused. The future scares me. It is supposed to. I have to keep trying. I have dreams. I am allowed to break down. I am allowed to build myself however I want. I am entitled to my emotions. Feeling the weakness does not make me weak. It doesn't also make me stronger. Things are the way they are, and it's ok. I have to learn to be ok with this.

The roads in the city are flooded. Garbage usually plugs the gutters shut. The ride to the hospital is slow but I am not frustrated. I keep the junk in my car. I throw it out when I see a bin. I don't take shopping bags when I go shopping. I have my hands and my arms to carry things. In these long lines and long waits on the road, seeing the young motorcyclist wet with the splashes that come to him through the speed-ed overtaking of the bigger cars, ruining his clothes, ruining his day, I see myself. I am the young man who's headed somewhere, in my own speed, with my own hurdles and holding my own assets.

This is how life is; a ride in a second hand twenty year old motorcycle, in the rain, in a third world country, around corollas and civics.