She was a living oxymoron, maybe even a hypocrite, but isn’t that what everyone is at some time or the other? She screamed at her parents for caring so much about what the neighbours gossiped about, intent on preserving their pristine image. She berated them for living within boundaries set by society in order to remain ‘respectable’, something of utmost importance in this world, but she was apprehensive of colouring outside the lines too. She wanted to do so much, but she was too scared too. She convinced herself that she was adventurous, tried new things, refused to accept what society claimed was right or wrong, but she never quite convinced that tiny nagging voice, which she tried ignoring, and managed too, most of the time. That voice, which gave her great anxiety at times, though she could never figure out why.
Of course, there was that confining milieu, which finally convinced her, after years of verbal osmosis, that no one could beat the system. And she turned into one of them, giving up her ambitions, just like that hen she saw at the farm once, which kept trying to fly, but never managed, because all the other hens looked content waddling around, never even trying to spread their wings. It stopped trying after a while, because the others were so satisfied not even trying, and it probably thought it was acting stupid by doing that. An apt metaphor, she thought, laughing to herself. She thought the hen was right, because really, she was so content with life now. She realized that passion was something that was only found in books, and movies, and perhaps some lucky souls experienced it, but she was not one of them, and had to be practical, and think with her heart, not her head.
She was altruistic, pretty, young, with an amazing family, a good job, and a smart, rich boyfriend. She was fond of him, and with time she thought she’d love him, but passion was something she hadn’t felt, because she was practical, and knew that passion doesn’t really exist for someone like her, and all the authors lie half-heartedly when they try talking about the kind of love that takes your breath away, because it doesn’t exist at all. That’s what everyone’s told her, and she has seen so many couples who claimed they were in love, but ended up bitterly hating each other, divorced and critical of love. She thought she was saving herself a lot of pain by admitting to herself that she didn’t believe in fairytales, that they were nothing but sadistic stories which did nothing more than break the hearts of people who believed in them.
And she laughed at the folly of her younger self, because really, passion doesn’t exist, and she’s a smart, practical girl whose head, not heart, rules her emotions.