It's 2024, but I'm not feeling like celebrating.
I just don't get what's there to celebrate — the proof that a more year slipped from your hands like sand, or you getting close to oldage and your death?
I know this is annoying you and I'm sounding like some grey-haired hag. But it's just that I care and don't want anyone to repeat the mistakes I made.
I too was once that person who'd show disgust over the unwanted preachings from people who I now realised did care for me in real, and tried their best to warn me against wasting away time and relations. They would utter annoying stuffs like, "don't cut a cake on your birthday; there's nothing worth celebrating in losing one more year of your life", "what's new year — it's just a calendar date to remind you of a loss of one more year".
What, I believe, is the worst in life is to measure and divide life. In our calculations, we let the present slip and forget to live life in the real sense. We think about tomorrows with no respect for today. For instance, I wasted the 16-17 years of my schooling taking that all as a burden, and was always in the rush to pass the classes and enter into adulthood. Now when I look back at those years, what I find is just a bag full of regrets and tears for not living a little more when I had the chance and choice to live life to the fullest. Now when I ask myself what I did in all those years, the only answer I get from myself is that I rushed and rushed and rushed, and waited for those years to culminate in the unhappy (and unsatisfying) today that I'm living now. I've stopped rushing now for I know where it was taking me — to nowhere, but closer to the end. But it's too late now. It's too late. Too late. Late.
© Sheena Dawar, Founder, Writtygritty
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Sheena Dawar
Founder @ Writtygritty
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