Yesterday night, as I was settling in to an hour's commute back, I spotted a crowd on the opposite side of the road. Curious, I peered out the window.
Through the throng of people, I noticed a pair of legs on the road, uncomfortably angled. Sneakers and jeans, just like me. He must be face down on the road, and wasn't moving. I couldn't make out any blood on the road, in that sodium street light. It took a moment to realise what had happened, just as I heard someone say, "Oh my God!". I searched the faces of the crowd, looking for an identifiable expression. There was fear, but something else... what it was, I don't know.
The rest of the night I thought about death, and what it meant. This post is not about that.
There I was, a well meaning idiot, recycling some artificial ideas about anxiety that I had taken on for no good reason.
My anxiety was about my own speculative mortality, not about anything
resembling actual experience with mortality, which is something that the majority of young people in my social segment don't experience. Just
those pangs of "OMG, I'm, like, 25, maybe I'm not going to live
forever? Whatever, off to the gym!"
Odd, in a sense, that my generation has to force itself to feel anything akin to real emotions. We watch soppy movies over and over again, give ourselves an imaginary pat on the back for being so sensitive and kind, yet would shirk the idea of hugging a friend who's hurting inside. The kid on the street with tears running down his grimy face and torn t shirt gets a "Chalte bano!" and a retort of "It's all a scam!".
I would say more, but hey, whatever, I'm off to the gym!
Through the throng of people, I noticed a pair of legs on the road, uncomfortably angled. Sneakers and jeans, just like me. He must be face down on the road, and wasn't moving. I couldn't make out any blood on the road, in that sodium street light. It took a moment to realise what had happened, just as I heard someone say, "Oh my God!". I searched the faces of the crowd, looking for an identifiable expression. There was fear, but something else... what it was, I don't know.
The rest of the night I thought about death, and what it meant. This post is not about that.
There I was, a well meaning idiot, recycling some artificial ideas about anxiety that I had taken on for no good reason.
My anxiety was about my own speculative mortality, not about anything
resembling actual experience with mortality, which is something that the majority of young people in my social segment don't experience. Just
those pangs of "OMG, I'm, like, 25, maybe I'm not going to live
forever? Whatever, off to the gym!"
Odd, in a sense, that my generation has to force itself to feel anything akin to real emotions. We watch soppy movies over and over again, give ourselves an imaginary pat on the back for being so sensitive and kind, yet would shirk the idea of hugging a friend who's hurting inside. The kid on the street with tears running down his grimy face and torn t shirt gets a "Chalte bano!" and a retort of "It's all a scam!".
I would say more, but hey, whatever, I'm off to the gym!
