I wake up every morning, not at the same time, albeit, which irks me. Every single thing on the Internet and the Indian galore of knowledge and spirituality says that wake up at the same time in the morning. Indian knowledge tells it as niyama and Internet says it as taking control of your morning.
Structure. Routine. Discipline.
Up to the time, I did schooling, I was as fucking perfect as a clock to follow my schedule and that reaped me the awards. Stepping into a college with dreams wide open to the universe and a heart un-shattered by the tumultuous happening of the big, bad world, I vowed to myself to not be the boring pseudo-valedictorian I used to be in my initial years.
What was supposed to be metamorphosis ended up marring my chances of being so-called “popular” in college and so, I returned back to the shell, this time, albeit without the perfect inner workings of a clock.
So, like a ship lost at the Cape of Good Hope, I was there with less hope of the future and the present debilitating existence of the present.
5 years, 1825 days, 43800 minutes, 2628000 seconds, I was in a daze filled with memories bittersweet and effort mediocre. Results I reaped because of that are much greater than I had hoped to be.
They say a fool with a plan can win the battle of life, but then what about the genius that didn’t have a plan?
I am not overestimating myself here because there is something I hate and that is:
When people put themselves down, I hate it. Something inside me wants to shout at them and tell that no one on this Earth can ever be not enough to do anything.
See, the thing is I have been very good at words that can maybe ignite the fire inside you or its already lit, then I can be the very gasoline you need.
The thing is I need someone like me for myself. But, then, the irony is that there can’t be two MEs unless I had split-personality or something on those lines. Fortunately and at the same time, unfortunately, that is not the case.
So, all that remains in my hands are these ten fingers that type without looking at the keyboard and I pick some words from my stream of consciousness and throw them out to the big, bad and then, also, beautiful world and hope somebody gets inspired and that comes back to me, someday.
For myself. Yes, I am selfish.
I write for you, but then I am not that philanthropic.
I write because there is so much in this head that it may look like Pompeii if I don’t do anything.
I write because writing is the last shred of discipline I have, I guess so.
Abhishek Verma is a researcher in the field of deep learning and artificial intelligence. He likes to write about the logical way of self-improvement. Spurred by emotions, he also likes to write poetry. Stay in touch by joining his newsletter. Follow him on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest and Mix.