Saturday, September 03, 2005

trajectory

[Another experiment - still in its 1st draft. i need to make the diction consistent. This also needs a proper last line. Comments and critique, as usual, are more than welcome.]


Describe the arc of your life thus far.

The fear of blood that made you reject the offer of a place in the Biology class, against the advice of your teachers and the expectations of your peers.

The momentary vacillation that landed you in a class where everyone else spoke, thought and dreamt in a different language from you.

The flatline monotone of the goldfish-eyed Physics teacher that dulled the last vestiges of your interest in science.

The strain of pretending to be interested in music and TV shows that you weren't interested in.

The need to get away.

The ugly industrial pipes that sent you running (in a cab) from one end of the island to the other, in search of a college that had not been abandoned by beauty.

And on the same day, the dark evergreens and brilliant white walls of the front porch you fell in love with, and that made the choice of any other college virtually unthinkable.

The weight you lost during the half-year spent at home which made you realise that your body couldn't afford to stay.

The need to get away.

The bad writing that made you brave enough to try.

The slamming of a door, and your impotent anger at your completely inadequate, stammering reply to a child when asked why she was not allowed to do what she loved and was good at.

The need to get away.

The inability to get away.

The utterly unasked-for benison of hope-blue sky, and the gift of song on your friend's wedding day.

Very often, the events and decisions that shape our lives are miniscule, barely-discernible, inexpressibly banal - the things that will escape the biographer's pen, the ones that we often do not even acknowledge ourselves because to do so would be to admit the smallness of our ambitions, the narrowness of our concerns. But perhaps there is a time for lingering, just for awhile, over these trivialities. It's humbling. It puts us in our place. And it reminds us that we are, thankfully, only human.

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