what for..

I watched Grave of the Fireflies tonight. I don’t how else I can put it. Its been a week since I got to Baku from India and I’ve been feeling strangely peaceful unlike any of the last times I’ve come back from home. I’ve been sick for ten days now and even that couldn’t drag me to the ugly resort of self pity this time. But Grave of the Fireflies did. I cried a shit load of tears tonight and it wasn’t even like soft sobs with tears rolling down; it was the all out loud and ugly kind of crying. I’ve seen a lot more war movies than I’d like and I’ve cried a bit in some of them but none of that was personal. I can’t even remember any of them distinctly. But this one, I’ll never forget. I don’t know if it’s because of the kids in the movie but I haven’t felt so sad to the extent of depressed for the clichéd stuff – why do wars happen, why is there so much misery, why can’t I do anything about anything – for as long as I can remember. I think I always made it a point never to be one of “those” people who like to talk and talk about this kind of stuff. I felt more like- if I can’t do anything I have no right to crib about it. But its like the movie  turned me into a child again. I guess that’s the worst kind of emotion that can be brought out in me. Acting like a helpless child, having no one to run to, wondering why no one has found the answers to all these frightful things happening to people. Even writing this I am thinking how stupid it all sounds. Of course there ARE no answers when you think of the big picture. And that’s what we always do… we always look at the big picture when it comes to issues like this. Because that’s the sensible thing to do. But with those two kids struggling literally to stay alive in all that mess, it was really hard to worry or even wonder about the big picture.

Right now I wish I could bury myself in some kind of hole never to crawl out again. The whole thing just takes over you and everything else seems so petty. You hate yourself for being an ungrateful son of a bitch. I hate my existence right now and wonder what good could ever come from me to anyone or anything. I know I will not do anything tomorrow or the next day to change myself even one bit and that’s why I hope I could just cease to exist for some time, get rid of myself or atleast my consciousness. Its eating me up inside. On rare occasions like these, I feel like such a phony living a superficial life and I would like to believe that the fact that I’m atleast thinking about it in some way makes me fuller than those who are not, but that’s the phoniest part of it is. Even the mindfulness of it does nothing for me because with whatever I’ve got and to have this realization now, its still that hard to find some happiness in this life so I might as well forget about it.

~ by neha mehta on February 25, 2009.