Its time.

The time has come. The blessed week that I have been waiting for since the time I stepped onto the campus. The campus that gave my the identity that I shall have to bear for the rest of my life. Be it on an identity tag, a marriage advertisement or an obituary. Its become utterly inconcievable how I hated this place when I came here.
Its time for all the farewells, after some well meaning ( yet, ill constructed) description of me and a momento to commemorate my successful completion of my "duties" at this place I will be dutifully asked to go my way, while the well oiled machinery goes back to preparing for another set of farewells.
As of now there are just about 23 days left on campus for me. But, I am not sad, sadness is not the feeling exactly, neither is it a sense of loss. Its just one of those feelings which are so empty of any kind of thought or idea.Every time I look up at the insti building or the workshop, the labs.I don't know what to think of, whether to feel sad or happy or grateful and by the time I feel I have captured the feeling, its gone. Its like those hazy dreams we have and they slip out of our memory even while we try to get them back desperately .
All the courses I studied, all the articles I wrote, all the plays I acted in are just colourful strokes on the fast fading canvas of memory. I have no idea how much I would be able to retain.
The people I met, the ones I hold dear and the ones I love seem to have become so close now thats its time to go. Every minute takes away another precious effort to perpetuate that abstract stroke on the forgetful canvas.
I guess I will never know the feeling, for i don't know how to feel it. Perhaps, this is how we are all supposed to feel for our farewells. Or maybe I am just too scared of saying, "Its over".


Now this is a very wierd thing to appear on my blog, but even the most cynical ones can't help feeling happy at times. This is one of those days when everything seems to be going on a right track. I have cleaned up my room to a certain degree of satisfaction, have cleaned up the mess in my life almost completely and have read the best peice of romantic fiction till date, the place where Howard Roark tell Dominique Francon how much he "loves" her and vice versa. Peice of art, one doesn't read this kind of stuff very often, does he(incorrect english?!)?
now i would love to write about real life characters like Ellsworth Toohey, even though everyone who has read the book tells me that there cannot be a real life person as manipulative as our dear elsie, but we know better. Now why did i say "we"? because i am not the only person who has been in touch with a real life Ellsworth Toohey..there are people who have been in touch and have refused to be influenced. And if Ellsworth Toohey can be real why can't we have someone like Dominique or Howard....i am sure even they exist and are there somewhere , away form the acidic influence of the Ellsworths, untouched by the unwelcome criticism of the illiterate hoodlums who hate anything out of the ordinary.
I am happy and that is the bottomline....i have got almost what i wanted and at this moment i cannot ask for more. But again happiness too huge an achievement and every time i feel happy about something, some voive from within condemns the very need to be happy. Very wierd but very much like myself.
Obscure, eh? But then, where is the fun if everyone understood everything?