As a child would.

Today I saw this old man who was strange to me but reminded me of my grandfather. Maybe something reminds me of the dearly departed every now and then, but this was a coincidence. The feeling that had taken over me was haunting; I froze and thought of him. I realized why I felt the way I did after about twenty seconds. I've had this image in my head for quite some time. An elderly man climbs out of a rickshaw with delicate hands and soft movements. He is my grandfather. Why? I'm not sure. He is visiting my home and traveled a long distance to see me on my birthday. My grandfather did not live to see my twentieth birthday. Oh.

Oh, how uncertain everything is. And yet part of the order.

These days, all of my thoughts are focused on who I am. I keep finding myself in the dirt, much to do with the sheer vastness of the subject, and seeing how every choice of mine is meaningless in comparison to what the universe has in store for me. In the art of dramatic writing, I learned that for a character to change, there must be an action that causes the feeling you create to give a reaction. Every small thing your character does in one way or another leads to a series of poor misguided decisions to reach their overarching goal, much like in real life. To this I say Hallelujah. I am twenty years old. I have learned so much. I have seen accidents, I've seen people cry, I've seen death and grief. My grandfather's death, a best friend's life. I've seen my friends fall in love, out of love, and back in it. I've been thinking about my life. God, when I asked to write about real-life events in order to improve my writing, I wasn't asking you to give me your most difficult battles. It's easy to think of someone and their achievements when they're alive and about, you think about visiting them, paying them respects but that's just all the things you end up doing once they're gone. I'm going to visit my grandfathers grave today. I don't know it feels so natural and easy. It's a Sunday. I have a week before my mid-terms. 

I was thinking about my childhood. My mother says sure I had a happy childhood. I'm not so sure, when I think about it all I remember is the times when I was bullied by the kids older than me, me embarrassing myself in front of huge crowds, teachers I didn't like punishing me for reasons that don't make sense now. How little do you think of yourself when you've got to write a remark in a little kids book for not oiling their hair three days in a row? Or for slapping a kid for forgetting his notebook or not knowing how to read a foreign language. How badly terrified the kid must be of an older man when he hurts him for not standing straight to greet him on his way into the room. How delusional are teachers on authority thinking whatever does hold authority in this case, a load of sitzprinklers just a year older than I was. Dragging me along the hallway into the teachers room, for what? Because they thought it was funny? The way I resisted being taken out of my space? The way I cried? I remember their names. Little prefects or monitors just assigned a small role. One batch before me, I prayed every night after the incident. Not for their souls, that one day God grants me just the right moment, just the right circumstances, just a minute with them alone in a room and I would avenge myself for it. As a matter of fact, I'd even rip off the face of the teacher who didn't value my opinion when I cried saying I did not do anything and asked me to apologize. I wonder if she still teaches. Fucking cunt.

When I think of the good moments from my childhood, its usually the ones where I accomplished something for myself. I climbed over five floors without safety to play hide n' seek and wasn't caught till they heard me laugh from all the way up. Or the way I'd risk myself for my friends, not the good ones obviously - I had no sense then. The film that I wrote or shot. Being good in academics. Being good. Hmm. I don't remember a lot of being good at anything. I was good at a lot of things, but the things I told myself I was good at weren't the same things my parents wanted me to be good at. How wonderful it is to have a son who can write the most beautiful of all musings yet he mustn't let it distract him, writing is for the artists. He is a man of Science. He can be an artist later in his free time. That's why they call them hobbies. Not ambitions. Being ambitious is when you discover a new element or write a thesis. Character studies and making people laugh, those are the careers of leftovers - the academic failures, the losers, the outsiders, the dropouts; those who didn't pay attention to their future. You aren't like them. You're different. You're smart. You like Science. Do I? Yes you do. You're going to be an engineer. Computer Science. Oh you're so good with computers. Can you fix the T.V.? NO??? What kind of engineer are you? Fix the WIFI. Fix the Fan. Fix the AC. These are things they learn in engineering. What is technical school, no I don't know. 

I'm tired. I need to finish the script Pratham set me up writing. He won't provide any input unless he's called upon or cornered. Possibly the worst way to collaborate. He's just not as interested as me.