Thanks to NG, I’ve been eating quite well for the past week, ever since I got my COVID positive report and isolated myself to my room. Every morning, afternoon and evening, the food would appear on the staircase, in front of the main door, along with a ring of the doorbell or phone or both. Today I started sustaining myself again, and surprise, surprise, Nutella was a big part of it.
As I bit into my fifth slice of bread (that I couldn’t even be bothered to toast), I couldn’t help wondering about the massive amounts of nutty chocolatey goodness that was, no doubt, settling along my arteries as well as aiding in the recent swift transformation of my waist from concave to convex. Just the other day, a friend had sent his medical reports full of various exploding lipids, and I KNOW I should be getting myself one soon.
I’m getting old, y’all.
*Cue nostalgic music on violin*
Ah, to be young again. To gorge on chips and bread and chocolates and yet remain underweight. To be able to walk up a flight of stairs without falling to the earth gasping for air. To be able to lie in bed for extended periods of time without having to manually flex your long-dead knee, plant you numb feet on the ground and walk for an hour before the pins and needles disappear. Ah, to be in my 20s again… the best and most blessed phase of my –
*Violin screeches to a stop*
Wait a minute. How were the 20s the best part of my life? All the classes I never prepared for, all the messy relationships, recurring mood swings, the constant feeling of being broke and worthless and clueless and on the verge of failing every exam and yet trying so hard to be “cool”. Ugh.
Ah yes. School wasn’t so bad. I always got great grades and all the teachers loved me and… oh. All the kids hated me. God, I was such a snob. Goodie-goodie and frankly, not very nice to most of my classmates. No wonder I failed the election for class president. Not to mention the glorious onset of suicidal ideation. Nope. I would NOT want to be back there.
Damn, I was always such an insecure kid, wasn’t I. Never had anyone my own age and hated being with the ‘kiddos’. Couldn’t wait to grow and hang out with people capable of carrying on a conversation. So that’s out too.
And here I am now, early 30s with the body starting to let me know of its existence and all.
But then, I’ve certainly had great days – numerous ones – and they are peppered throughout.
There’s the day I mustered all the courage I had and recited my favourite poem in front of a crowd in high school. There’s the day MB got sloshed and danced like an idiot on the rooftop for Christmas. There’s the night I got sloshed and kept sending flying kisses to him in front of our friends. There’s the day I put on the title track from Dear Zindagi and rode with K with our hair flying, on the famous road to Anjuna beach. There’s the days I spent fooling around in the hostel dormitory. There is the day A taught me how to ride a bike. There is the night we spent munching on crepes while moving to the crowd’s rhythm at a Spandan concert.
And I hope there are the many many that are yet to come as well. I suppose I’ll just have to come to terms with the fact that I’ve never had and possibly never will have a “best time of my life”. In a sense, though, that isn’t so bad, is it?
*Cue soft piano music*