the act of murder

 I'm a terrible writer and an even worse liar. I say that I'm alright but I'm so unaware of myself that I got lost in my own lie. There's no Vallance Alvares. Only a boy who for the lackluster of his perishing will to live continues to defile his mind with the worst possible methods. I used to say my life is boring, it was in a purely literary sense. The only conflict I faced was waking up and in the comment section of some hideously misogynic threads in which my ex wanted me to join her to fight trolls together. Twenty Twenty-two (2022) was not my year. I want to say there were highs and lows but the highs never got beyond me hanging out with Chinmay and Pratham, or me attending an event just to learn something new. And I can list the lows so thoroughly well and articulate myself to such a mythos you'll crave to live my life. Thinking back to what I said about December, it wasn't a month of self-exploration. Rather it was self-deception. I deceived myself so well into thinking this is the best time of my life: just me alone in my room, watching five films on a roll, getting a mubi subscription, meeting cinematographers, attending weddings, and dancing all night. It's such a self-sustaining lie. 2022 was a sham, it's the year offline college began, my friends fought, broke up, and cried; Miransh died, then everything went to hell, I remember thinking going to college and wanting to let people know I was grieving, that we'd assemble together, light a candle or some other crap, build a memorial for him perhaps. It didn't work out. The semester clawed its way like a feline nightmare, hissing at my insides. I remember wanting to explode. To let all of me cover the rest of the world. A big splash. No, I'm not a suicide bomber. During the vacations, I didn't work, I played and played and played thinking I have time. By November I realized, I was out of it. I fought with my best friend in August, it was stupid, I got so awkward. Things haven't been the same. I've been good with my other friends this year, I met Saachi and Ruth a couple of times. They've been struggling too.

After Miransh and one giant shithole of an end-semester exam, I let go. I forgot why I wanted to be an engineer. It was so that I could be rich, that's the bottom line. I didn't care about the fancy car or the beautiful house. I cared so little I stopped going to college. I stayed home, I studied film, not attending class or the practicals, then the tests came and went. In September, I fought the principal. A low point. I didn't speak to anyone for a week. Till Indra happened. Then I realized, I'm not a bad writer nor a worse liar. I'm even a bad friend. I couldn't help Indra. I didn't visit Miransh's parents enough. I barely spoke to my own friends. All my words were stuck in this blog and with the people who read it. If things end, the way it is, I'm not the best person I can be. I'm stuck. I'm twenty years old and it does feel like the world's coming to an end. This was September. I cried. My grandfather died in October. I forgot how to cry. I forgot how to function. If I knew the cycle of how grief functions, I'd have told you I was in one of the stages but now I've even forgotten what that meant. In October, I lost myself. Sachi fell and broke his face around this time. Was it a Monday or a Thursday, I don't know. Sitting in a hospital at 3 PM, I wondered how my life bought me to this. I think Indra was thinking the same thing. November I pushed myself to the limit, there was so much to say then. The more I said, the less I had to say. Another semester exam later. Here I am after punching five films in a day for a month. No Christmas and barely a happy New Year. This is my goodbye to the weirdest year of my life. I'll memoir it in a future story. Till then, in or another 2 AM writing spree, I shall let you know. Goodnight.