On turning 26.

I realise, with a sinking feeling, just as I'm beginning to make this new house a home, that I can't live with my family. There is just too much baggage. 

Every time I oversleep, it isn't taken as an incident within itself, it is part of a pattern, a link in a daisy chain leading to this person who is supposed to be me, this person who oversleeps. They come in the form of inside jokes or anecdotes, and you realise it is a thing. Somehow it will always be a thing. 

And I'm sure it goes both ways. I'm sure I do it to everyone else in the family, this inescapable labyrinth of people who have seen you and whom you have seen for the longest time. You tend to resent the knowledge they have on you. 

The pigeon-holing that family does, no one else quite gets to do it as expansively. 

My dad is excited about this new place. So everything is a rule. This is his way of grappling with the exponential jump we've made in class. There must be time to appreciate everything, a new-age "let's thank the lord". So we have to eat together on the table, we have to sit in the balcony in the evening and at least one of us must say "Ah, isn't this just great". We have to keep things minimal, throw all our clutter out, keep things neat. We have to find or create a place for everything -- things that lived and breathed with us without a place in Delhi.

But that's not even it, really. He's only doing things the way in which he knows. It's the rest. It's the not knowing how to interact with a 26 year old daughter, any more. I'm sure it's tough for them, because there is no jurisdiction. No "Go study", "Focus on discipline" or "Please behave yourself" any more. Interactions therefore, become a little confusing, a little strained.

I think all my life I've basically had to deal with one overwhelming necessity - to never, ever be dependent on anyone. It was as silly as teaching myself how to workout with any equipments or wax -- because if there came a day when I had to only depend on myself, I'd have these skill sets. So my whole life becomes an exercise in just detaching myself from things. Even in the throes of love, I'll always look for a reason to detach, to walk out, to turn my back (even though I don't); because there will come a day when I will be dependent on that person, and out of that will come devastation and sadness.

So I figure that I've been happier being outside my house than inside. The only reason I like being home is because I'm not imposing on anyone else. I'm not waiting on their kindness and generosity. Even this studying outside thing, will be on someone else's money and it will always weigh heavily on me. 

This independence thing is a disability, I think.

I need money. I need money for my own place, my own space. I need to get out soon. Just as intensely as I am settling down, I find myself wanting to get out.