There is no Secret

I never wanted to believe that book.

First of all, I love the comfort of staying in denial (well, who doesn’t?). I applaud myself, as I type this because I swear, I’m not too comfortable with confessions. But then, I’m barely the person I was last year, who preferred basking in illusions. So hey, here’s to self-awakening. Cheers.

For long, I have been trying to evade the law of attraction mumbo-jumbo. I must say I still disagree with it sometimes, especially its implausibility in certain scenarios. However, as much as I’d love to deny it vehemently, I think it’s pretty fail-proof.

Oh man.

I’m not worried. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not..I’m..

Of course, I was worried. Worried about not getting into a good college. Worried about being subjected to a miserable social life. Worried about being in anyone’s bad books. Worried about getting into a bad relationship. Denying simply brought me more grief in the form of anxiety attacks.

And it just attracted more worry. It still does, at times. I ask myself, what comfort did/do I cling to by perpetually floundering in a sea of unease? I suppose the answer lies within me. Oh, I tend to get intense, once in a while.

As I type this, I try to unwind or ‘chill’ (I loathe that word). But, anxiety is a loyal friend, that strives to stay as long as it can. I have tried or rather, am trying to abandon it with the help of my faithful Fender, or an occasional bottle of Old Monk (though I may add, this is hardly the weather to relish rum).

I think at this point, I’m drifting.

I don’t remember what I intended to write in the first place. All I know is, I actually had no intention of finishing this post when I began typing and deleting word after word, two weeks ago. That was when my examinations were successfully on their mission of zapping my enthusiasm. But, strangely enough, I kept convincing myself that I was going to finish typing something that day, maybe spout some deep-seated wisdom that I usually reserve for myself and my moody conscience. Of course, that was a farce. I hope I manage to finish writing something, today.

I told myself I will steer away from romance (the sort that allures a girl on the brink of twenties, portraying itself to be rational) and the ephemeral rosiness it brings along, during my final year of undergraduate studies. I told myself a lot of other things like I’d blog more often. That I’d complete all the unfinished music, that bothers me till date. The fact that I had to constantly make a note of such things, makes me realize that I had always wanted to do the opposite. And that’s why I ended up heading towards the opposite.

I entered third year, love struck. I now exit feeling blank.  I blog once in three months. My music lies unfinished in a virtual closet. Because, this is precisely what I wanted. I don’t know why. But I think I do.

On the lighter side, the one thing that I did finish is my project. My final semester project was successful, because I wanted it to be so. And that time I didn’t need to make notes, and set up reminders.

The book says the same. I don’t follow the book. It’s bullshit.

But I know I do. Subconsciously.

There’s no secret. You get what you think.

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