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There is a big conundrum about writing essays in my age. What should I write about? There are two major topics of concern. One is love, which really gets tiresome as one gets to repeat words over and over again. And the other is economics which is a prickly subject to consider. All other topics fall in between both with their degree of blandness increasingly related. So what to write about? What topics are there which provides that little bit of zest in a reader? Without resorting to the tired discussions about four letter words and empty pockets.
I don’t really know if someone is reading the things that I write here. I guess in a way, this serves as an outlet for the impulse to do something with my life. Other people gossip, watch movies, go out with friends, drink, play darts, play zynga poker or Farmville to occupy their time. I write. And whether or not someone reads them is something that is left to chance. And yet, I have reached a point where I don’t know what to write about.
Life is short. The days pass swiftly and you would be surprised when one day you wake up to see that the best years of your life had passed you by. It is a tragedy that gets repeated every day: a sad reality that cannot be denied.
We all start with dreams. We go through life sacrificing those dreams. Always, something gets in the way. The dream of that career gets derailed when the exorbitant tuition prevents us from getting that course in college. The dream job evaporates like mist when we finally face the reality of office politics and job market prospects. That door to marrying the girl of our dreams slams shut as they bite the bullet to marry a spoiled richer kid or a bad boy who has the courage to ask which we don’t have. We watch them live their lives and we are left wondering in the dust about the possibilities of what could have been.
Our dream house with its five rooms and spacious backyards goes poof as we live paycheck to paycheck. And our dreams of retirement savings vanish with the credit that piles up on our bank accounts. And even if we do get to marry the girl we want, the kids may not turn out the way we want them to be and the missus starts to doubt the fact that maybe we aren’t the man for them. They seek solace in the arms of other men and we drown our sorrows in alcohol.
And then death comes knocking and the pain we experience at the regrets of having chosen the path we lived comes to haunt us. But by then, it is too late… always too late.
I wish there is a path in life we can take where we can control everything that happens in the journey we make; a path where we can control most of the variables. But this is not how reality works… which is sad really.
So we live with what life deals us and hope for the best.