Life.

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“Life.” He whispered into my ear as he heard me complaining about everything. ” Life does it all. It is the price you pay for living.” And then he went on with his long diatribe about how life works, trying to console me. But I was not listening to him anymore. Tears in my eyes, I just couldn’t seem to get my mind over what he had just said. “It is the price you pay for living.” What did he mean? How simple yet so complex. I had been good enough to score well in my sats and maybe get admission to a medical college but maybe I was not ready for it. Little did i realize, the tears had gone. He had also concluded his speech. With a fake smile on my face,to console him more than myself, I got up and back into my room. I cuddled up to my pillow,let out a tear or two, and fell asleep.

Waking up the next day, I felt kind of different. I had been working hard for the past few months, sleeping for as less as I could survive on,striving. Now it was all gone.” Quite a relief “,I thought to myself. With a cup of coffee, I came back to my room and turned on the music. I had heard all kind of stuff about music. Why not give it a try? After a cup of coffee, fifteen minutes and maybe three songs, I had had enough. The music had let me down. 

I decided to go outside. A couple of minutes in fresh air could do me no bad. The sun shining, a couple of birds and I dont know what else, maybe my own existence made me sad. I rushed back into my room and closed the door. Within an hour of waking up, I was back in my bed. Nothing seemed to help. I knew I could do better in my sats. I knew that I could have had a better percentage. And somewhere deep inside, I also knew that I could have worked harder, atleast for the last week or so. Seeing those around me having better percentages made me sad.                                                                                                                                                                                                                          Image

It was not that seeing others happy should have made me sad but it did. “After all these years of hardwork”, I thought ” I deserved more.” Soon I began to hate myself for being the person I had become. What sort of person feels bad when others are happy? It was me. It went on for hours. I didnt think anything in the world could make me happy.

At last, I managed to get out of my bed. I saw the pile of books I had gathered to read for when I would be free. And now I was. I picked up the first book. It was The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. I had heard a great deal about him. I opened the book, merely to avoid social interaction and started to read. It was a novel about a shepherd boy. It was the tale of his quest for a hidden treasure but ended with him getting a lot more than the treasure. I was absorbed into the book. I turned leaf after another and with every book I began to feel better. About 6 hours later I had finished the book and was lying on my bed. Smiling. Something about the book had made me feel much better about myself.I dont know what it was but now I felt happy looking out of the window towards the setting sun. The birds flying back to their nests. I felt really good.

It was a mystery. “But again, why was I sad?” I thought to myself. Just thinking about it made me smile. I shook my head and said out loud:

                                                               Life does it all. It is the price you pay for living.