It’s a blast at the Lonely Hearts Club
At some point, I stopped writing for myself and started writing to please others.
It was at the same time that people stopped respecting what I wrote.
It wasn’t honest anymore. It was filled with clichés. It was caustic. And I was beginning to not like myself.
The realisation came today because of something very unrelated to the aforementioned revelation.
I have been in touch with a girl the past few months. It’s amazing how we haven’t even met once, been talking to each other only through late night phone conversations and incessant texts. And yet, it is termed being ‘in touch’.
What happened was, we had a fall out. And being the guy I have become, I asked her to go fuck herself.
I don’t know for sure if she did exactly that, but turns out she did stop talking to me. She tried messaging me twice to try and squeeze a few comforting words out of me. But I was in the mood to act all self-righteous and holier than thou and never bothered to reply back.
It took me about a day to realise that no one except a few e-commerce sites and Vodafone’s recorded sales pitches bothered to ring my number. Or send me texts.
Made me realise what I started this blog with.
Don’t ask me how I made that connection.
P.S.: I think that girl is a figment of my imagination. Much like Tyler Durden. Only with boobs and a lot more cooler.
Only people who call you up are the people who want money from you – insurance, banks, loan reminders, credit card payments, mobile phone payments. Sometimes I feel I look like a walking moneybag to all these people.