Confessions…

I don’t believe in the people who don’t believe in soulmates. Funnily, I don’t believe that there’s only one soulmate for every being. And I also don’t believe in soulmates being people. A soulmate can be anything- it can be a word, a poem, a painting, or even a song. Like Rebel is the word for my soul with Tired as its last name, remember? And “If” by Rudyard Kipling is my soulpoem. And these days I have discovered or rather rediscovered another soulmate. It’s a song this time, the muse for my despondency. It’s “Lost Boy” by Ruth B.

I still remember when I first heard this song some four years ago, it instantly touched my soul. I just love Peter Pan. I grew up reading and loving the boy who wouldn’t grow up. I didn’t want to grow up either, just like him. I remember when I watched the first Peter Pan film. The memory is etched in my brain like words inscribed over a rock. They won’t ever fade away. So you know how much I love him. And having a song about him, and that too a song that is so beautifully me was like a dream come true.

It’s amusing how when we are young, we can make anything our dream. Like being a truck driver was mine. Some people find it funny. But truck driver is another soulmate of mine, Because in a way it’s a free life, a wander-ful life. And trust me, wanderful is as good as wonderful. I am surprised that grammarly did not pinpoint the “wanderful” mistake. Maybe it agrees with me.

Anyway, I am here to confess today. And my confessions do not revolve around anything in particular. They are a huge heap of nothingness, much like my brain. But my brain is a jumble of information. Like it knows that Femur is the longest bone in human body but it also knows that the bone is made up of hydroxyapatite. It somehow also knows that Plato’s real name was Aristocles and it also knows that Aristotle is the father of logic. Weird, that anybody can be the father of something so fundamental to our being.

So, I was told a few days ago by someone that I make people happy. And this sentence has created havoc in my mind. Making people happy is a big deal. It’s like being Superman. And I am no man, let alone superman. There is nothing superb about me. I cannot imagine being the one saving the planet. I can barely save my icecream.

That is the thing about me. Whenever someone tells me something good about myself, I tend to experience an existential crisis. There are two reasons for that, well if you think about it, there’s only one. The first one is that whenever anybody says anything, I tend to believe that they mean it. Because I mean every word that I say. The second reason is that I know myself.

Knowing myself, I know that I am not a pure-hearted positive person that people believe me to be. I am a jealous person and an insecure person. That is how I know myself. So you see why I am in this constant conundrum of thoughts, I just don’t have the courage to let people live in the myth that I am a good-hearted person, a pure-hearted person. When in reality I am a mess of contention. I wish that I were what people believe me to be. And that is why, I am here to confess today. And I hope that there’s no one else like me.

I hope that people can look each other in the eyes after they compliment one another. I hope that people can face the person in the mirror without doubting every ounce of their soul. I hope that people can wish to find their soulmate without any fear or jealousy. And I hope that people don’t stop believing in soulmates. Because honestly, I don’t believe in the people who don’t believe in soulmates.