I sat there in the evening breeze looking out the balcony, changing my view from the carved metal railing to a monochromatic sky as my feet pushed the swing back and forth. My companion, pushing along- in sync with my feet, was a straight A, trophy hoarding, an apple of everyone’s eye kind of person. In the company of heavy silence, where the grey skies seemed to be mimicking us, my sense of self was undergoing a metamorphosis of sorts. My self-concept wasn’t altered much at its crest, but it did change attire as our seldom-worded conversation progressed.

It first began with being a small bundle of rather morbid feeling nerves. I mean, the only straight ‘A’ that I’ve been consistent with is the last alphabet in my name! Slowly, after some self-cheering I realised that I couldn’t possibly be all that gloomy, I mean I do have people who love me despite all my flaws. Don’t the bees only stick around if there is some honey to have? So there had to be some amber in me.

Over the seconds that bloomed into minutes and blossomed into an hour, I found myself feeling happy about my muddy pond even if it wasn’t a golden bowl. Don’t get me wrong; I did not dim out the star to make my glow bug bum look brighter. I just started to realise that both our sparkles glow well, just in our own unique colours. In this mental monologue I had come to also realise that there was something disturbingly different about our independent sparkles- could it be that mine was in my eyes and his was in the eyes of the people that looked at him?

Being the hopeless romantic that I am, with the desire for a story, my violent curiosity uttered the first audible dialogue- “What’s wrong?”

Were those the right words, should I have bothered, will this have a desired response, was there a happy ending at the end of this- I was still unsure.

Well, the first response was an instant passé smile; as if asking me to mind my own business in the most gentlemanly manner known to mankind. But some delicate prodding by shamelessly extending an expectant look with sub-zero words uttered, changed the direction of vocal dialogue delivery.

What began with a sigh, went onto being a jumble of words trying desperately to catch up with the speedy mixed thoughts and thoughtful pauses. He said, “I’m not sure what it is. Its like- I design cars from the scratch and yet your joy of driving a hand-me-down is far more potent than what I feel… You know, I’ve achieved more that most people my age and have never done anything that I’m embarrassed of- not that I’m trying to boast. Everyone’s parents wish for their kids to be like me, my parents couldn’t be more proud of me… Sorry, I’m just rambling… Uh, I’m just not feeling it! I have all reason to be happy, but I am not. You know what I mean?.. Or not?… I’m sure I sound like a loony right now. Forget whatever I just said. I don’t seem to make sense to myself sometimes… What I’m trying to say is that your smile intimidates me.”

And just like that the tables had been turned, roles reversed.

Now I was the one with a passé smile while he just gave expectant glances and gallons of empty silence for me to fill.

There sure were thoughts in my head. There were appropriate questions that I could ask. There was just one little problem- too many wheels had started to turn at once. It felt like my brain was supplying so much data to my tongue at once that it couldn’t choose the best alternative to provide as an output. Now I was lost, not for thought, but because I had too many thoughts that prevented my clarity of thought, you know what I mean?

And just like that I knew I was going to need some time to declutter and better compartmentalise my reaction…

*continued at http://www.thehazywhisperer.com/2018/11/12/churning-wheels-potion-quotient