If my parents want my help for things here and there and think I’m good enough to get into grad school and law school and all that stuff and think I’m too smart to be as dumb as I am, then why do I seem to be such a useless, incompetent fuddly-duddly in their eyes? – even with their assurances that they love and value me beyond what merit could demand. And if that’s where I am now, how exactly do I get out of such a hole? This line doesn’t resolve.
That’s how my life seems to me. Or there is no ‘seems’, but all my literacy redounds to the benefit of others and not to my wretched self. 懵, blur, ignorant, muddled, I crawl in dreamland to a fantasy within a fantasy, and the embedded fantasy contains the matrix fantasy, and all becomes a mess of inky stasis. Can you not see there must be something to extract from me, something to make you rich? Vaguely.
Come on, I always suspected that none of my skills were actually useful. And then reality comes along to confirm my suspicions, that I, worm that I am, can do nothing that merits even enough pay to pay my own bills in turn. Vapour, vapour, vapour, and no shantih ever breaks into my wasteland (don’t think I’ve actually read Eliot’s poem yet), except for that support and affection which I receive. If I didn’t suck at plot and character, I could just try to make a living by writing. But alas, this is not to be: things take more time than sanity’s willing to invest, because there’s today as well as tomorrow to live, and kal naa ho (‘tomorrow will not be’) without aaj (‘today’). Kal aaja (‘tomorrow, come’); kal ho naa ho (‘tomorrow may not be’).
This is sociologically or psychologically or economically interesting, I’m sure, this investment matter. Now when you find the equilibrium and write your article, can you put my name on it too?
If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him. In the meantime, with the tons of discouraging news (or non-news, or forebodings), the love of beloved friends is all that’s preserved my sanity alive. And genuinely, truly, the marriage of two friends and the quiet love of others has been joy in my heart. But that verse, which has appeared in our Bible studies, has never before sounded so good to my weary self. Upbraid me not, O Lord, for my offences, but grant in abundance the wisdom of thy holy Cross. Perhaps there is śāntiḥ after all.