32: Too many, too few.

I don’t know if this will make sense. To you. Or even to me when I am done typing this out. This is not something I have been pondering over or something that has been bothering me. There is a lot of noise in my head. Words whirring, clashing, bouncing off each. It’s fucking rock concert. And I am just grabbing a fistful of them and chucking them across this sheet of paper. Then see if it makes sense. A shape-shifting Rorschach test of sorts for all of us, for no two people read a word, a page, a chapter or a book, the same.

I turned 32.

So what? It’s just a frivolous number. May be for you. Numbers were my first love. I have never been as obsessed with anything as I was with numbers when growing up. Looking for patterns in them, I saw them as alphabets. I tried to find a meaning in numbers I would see around me. Not the value. The meaning. 32 is an important number. I can write probably a thousand words about it. But I won’t. It clearly doesn’t interest any of you.

What is it like?

To be 32? What it is like to be a certain age, is the encapsulation of your entire existence from birth till that point. What being 32 feels to me could be being 28 for you or maybe 40. It is like standing on a staircase, leading in to nothing but sheer emptiness, with no next step in sight and turning around to look at the steps behind you. 31. 31 steps that appeared out of absolute nothing. A bit like the Universe. Each step is a microcosmic universe in itself and being 32 is the sum total experience of traversing through 32 multiverses. Every time in my I took a decision, I eliminated multiverses till I existed in just one and that become the next step in the staircase.

What’s next? Make it to the next step or become nothing.

As I grow older I am sensing a fear among the people around me. A fear that is turning into a paranoia. Fear of loneliness. People are getting more and more afraid that they end up being alone without a spouse, lover or even a companion. I see the paranoia forcing someone people to settle for anyone who will stick around. And that is very unsettling. Why is loneliness such a terrible thing? Why do you have to be with someone? I can understand those who do want to have children and would want another parent to help them raise the child. But what about those who do not wish to bring kids into this fucked up world? Is it the stigma that comes with loneliness that is making them so impatient? This fear is clouding their minds and making them doubt themselves. These perfectly beautiful people with amazing souls who suddenly feel they are not good enough for someone to accept as a partner. This is painful for me because it is not something I can in any way help them with.

Being single at 32, I have had almost everything about me being questioned, barring my sexuality surprisingly. Some people question if I even truly got over the woman I really was in love with. Some question my ability to remain faithful to one person. While others even question if I am human after all, but that’s a question for another day.
I have been asked multiple times why I am so averse to relationships. Funny thing is that I am not. I really enjoy being in a relationship*. The terms and conditions that apply are too many and too long and wouldn’t interest any one. Let’s just say it requires immense amount of effort and patience to be in a relationship with me and be happy at the same time. It is just not fair on the other person. A relationship should not be that much effort. Period.

I am happy being by myself. I don’t have any expectations or disappointments. Loneliness doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t make me feel incomplete or inferior. But then there is a difference. I am not lonely, I am a loner. A driftwood. If someone wants to drift along with me then fine. Else I will continue drifting by myself till life comes unstuck.


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