Everyone Uses Bits And Pieces Of Others' Personalities To Form Their Own

Food for Thought


Who am I

 

                 Sometimes you are just convinced that the hardest thing in this world is bearing the pain of missing someone. And to miss multiple people at a time, that’s got to kill. This missing is a constant reminder of all the things and people out there whose lives I can't be a part of even though I want nothing more than that. There are people who are responsible for the personality I have today and I haven't met them in years. These people are part of my story. And you can't ever simply start over with people like them. The next time we meet, we'll pick up from where we left off. And I've been waiting for years for that to happen. Waiting for happiness to strike its two-second score. Waiting for distance to fade and moments to freeze in a happy second. Waiting for pain to cease. I have this weird yet amazing idea to let myself out into the unknown and maybe latch myself on to it. Out into the unknown isn’t exactly interstellar-cum-gravity type nor the set-out-alone-travelling type, but more like simple 1950’s type. The letters type. I’ll send letters to someone unknown. But someone with potential. This conclusion would be based on posts on Facebook and tweets and pictures too probably. Someone random who interests me. Unreliable source, I know. And so it’s an experiment. At the end of which, I’ll know exactly how much one alters oneself on social media, how much of it is true. I'll get to know their real self. It’ll be like living someone’s story without actually being a part of it.

I found someone. His name is Abheek. Charming and funny, on social media at least. And he writes. Like actual, thought-provoking stuff. Exchanging letters with him would be something. I don’t even know how old he is or what he does. But he seems like a typical guy. Not shy and discrete about sex. He likes it, has it often and has a lot to say about it too. I don’t mind it at all. I have no expectations from him. I want nothing but his letters. Not even an actual position in his life, which is different because everyone wants to be a substantial part of someone’s life before letting any expectations disappoint them.

Letters

I always used to start out with expectations, but I won’t this time. This is literally an experiment, like receiving letters from a universe apart. Something you can know but you don’t have to worry about. Something you can read as a story but be assured that it’s actually happening. And if his life isn’t half as happening as a story book, that’s fine. I’ll be in touch with his thoughts. His ideas. His emotions that he won’t let anyone else know. Like talking to a faceless diary, only that the diary talks back. All I know is that I don’t want to introduce him into my life. I want to introduce him to my mind. My real world. My fucking fantasy. My wild self. The only thing linking us would be paper and words. 

Like all experiments, this has a chance of failing at the first attempt too. Maybe he won’t respond at all to this idea of mine. But what if he does? I’ll have unleashed an entire world of stories all to myself. And you know what the best part about this is? I won’t miss him one bit. How am I so confident? Well because... how do you miss something that’s not even in your life?! Food for thought.

Photography By: Yash Mistry


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