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That Good, Old-Fashioned Existential Angst
Don’t worry. Lambasting or lamping is my innate specialty! And this essay, I dare say, is one intimate, accidental cock-and-bull confession. Never take it too seriously!
In the sad days of my youth, I found myself constantly under the spell of my personal considerations (poor at best!), brainwaves (wildly short-circuited!), and first-impression polaroids (miserably dull!). I thought that these were tried and true things and that by using these seemingly useful constructs I could make my life worthwhile and triumphantly interesting. But life, to put it cheerfully, crushed me.
Year after year, as life unraveled itself, I realized with belated surprise that I must have been way off the mark to begin with. In addition to this conundrum, the lack of empirical evidence and lack of role models in the past has only served to heighten my existential angst, which has stuck with me through the depths of seemingly raw useless doodles and noodles. Today, no matter how I feel about my life, I am still chasing it and will continue to do so until the day I die. It’s a spirit, you say? I think so. We are on the same page.
Perceptually speaking, my city-raised life has NOT turned out the way I thought it would; rather, it is all the more incredibly individualistic, notably undramatic and straightforward, and generally much less romantic; is this happening for the first time after marital ecstasy? You tell me, I have no idea. Time, of course, takes its toll; it takes its pound of flesh, and over the past few years I’ve realized that a constant heart affair doesn’t leave enough breathing space to enjoy serious creative pursuits like reading, writing, or romanticizing the past. So I eagerly volunteered to be an occasional sober romantic instead of a 24/7/365 romantic. I could be completely wrong in this thought process for all I know, however this is what I am investing in right now. intermittent romantic? Do not care.
Let me know, could these thought processes be basically a set of weird reflections of what is happening to me right now and maybe my life is going south because of this affliction? But what unseen element do I need to know about? Have I leaped forward in time and prematurely become an old man whose mission is so futile to obscure my original romantic genealogy by which people have always known me, and with it this existential raging anguish that is its bittersweet consequence? That can be a valid assumption, yes. Regardless, I can’t quite articulate if I’m trying to masquerade as someone who’s barely out of the arena to try and engage attractive chicks in pre-coital revelry. No! I do not think so. I am not up to this evil diversion, never have been. Now I call myself an intermittent romantic, remember? Please, I don’t have full time ECAs (extracurricular activities). I blurt this whole thing out just to see how funny or serious it can get.
Indeed, I gave everyone a run for their money in the ‘Heights and Looks’ department a while back, and I happily bragged that I still managed to give them a good rabbit race! I’m hardly destined to toot my own horn, but I beg you to imagine: I’ve had women compliment me all the time on being such a classically tall and handsome, sleek hound that they think I was designed by Michelangelo himself. , girls yelled at me, sometimes people fall into walls looking at me, clicked my pictures and literally complimented me from my nose to my beautiful toenails! I enjoyed their attention, but it used to be really crazy to deal with all the fanatical attention I got. By golly, I loved acknowledging their compliments by making things like “thanks, say that again!” in my strawberry-like mouth and just go my way with a spring in my step, glad to have ARRIVED! Like many things in life, beauty is scarce, but my amazing beauty does not come at a price. Rest assured my dear, I haven’t joked in years!
In today’s like-inducing world of Facekindle, Obliteratti, or Junkedin, it’s easy to get caught up in the resentment of trolls of the moment and all that horrible, self-destructive stuff that intertwines the fantastical and the mundane. strange and dangerous mental and so on, as if there was nothing unusual to worry about. Obviously then it becomes excruciatingly boring for old-school folks like me, whose primal faith in love, peace, and happiness is somehow well-appreciated by the same monstrous world that has a grim backdrop of racial unrest, fascism, and paranoia. sense of doom and foreboding, turned out to be crazy and furious and shows no signs of abating any time soon. This is what life has become: completely toxic. Unfortunately, the days of empowering happiness are now completely gone – long live those days; The irony of all this general backwardness is that there’s no point in being charmingly good-looking anymore when you only have a bus ticket to get back and not BMW in a world rife with protests and more violent protests of various shades. I’m basically done fixing temperamental cats and all with my sweet smelling boy scent pheromones. I may not be George Clooney to say that much, but I’m also good looking enough to not let anyone fool me and get away with it unscathed. I’m still not done with this thread, however I need to stop bulldozing in this direction. Now before you insult me, read this: Elvis has left the building!
Life: Not for squirrels
Which brings me to why life isn’t a fair star and why an awful lot of things like misfortune and twists of fate/destiny/kismet happen in the blink of an eye and why these days I can play the victim card to save my perfect. tight buttocks from grinding Haves and Have-Nots in the bustling politics. I wonder if this is what existential anxiety is, although it could be a natural response to imagined loss and suffering that never really subsides, or we hope it ever will. I don’t think we should jump to any uncharacteristic conclusions at this point, so let me linger a little longer while I’m at it, caught up in a sandstorm of hasty feelings, causing anxiety and the empty weight of this trivial, cathartic writing!! ! The wind is still left in its sails to go a little further. So come away with me.
I come from one of the southern regions Deccan Plateau In peninsular India, where huge boulders, unique rock formations and rugged hills, slopes and slopes surround the peaceful urban landscape, which I think can often mean heartbreak and technical stalling and being stuck between a rock and a hard place. place kind of thing. I may still be young, but you see, I’ve been around to learn such a hidden thing. Being 45+ certainly doesn’t seem like a juvenile age group anymore, so I claim to know such things.
So chew on this. After college, my life trajectory pointed south. I wanted to leave in the east direction, but unfortunately it did not happen. Perhaps I was a little off the mark from the start, and so in the mad rush of life I missed the proverbial bull’s eye as much as possible: doing nothing of value is my medical dream coming true. So I limped to that altar, desperate to move on, but unable. Why do I feel so much existential distress/fear/crisis about this long-forgotten question? It should die eventually, right? That’s a big question, and so this blog needs to answer it satisfactorily and find closure. If data is the new oil, then I’m looking for it. No wonder I’m all about the age of information technology (IT) knowledge talent and people like me are dismissed as “technicians“or”geeks“, talented or more talented or not in the least!
Medicine is not for everyone
Reading this article, it may seem like I’m trying hard to sell the idea that I have an “existential rage” that never leaves me, or maybe it’s just the muse of time, or maybe I really do have the purpose I want. talk about it here. No, dear, don’t try to give me my scarf yet. I can be emotional, but I’m fine, I assure you. Call it herd mentality or confused mentality, I must have felt a raging feeling of still being annoyingly frustrated at not achieving what I had set my mind to when I was much younger, and now I’m trying to get that wonderful feeling of repentance. to free himself, either by hook or by hook, but not being able to die a natural death.
To tell the truth, I wanted to become a medical professional, let’s say a specialist doctor (don’t cry your eyes out yet!), but I didn’t realize that the concept or the idea, although very vague, I admit, I had one. the long years of tender care had faded not long after I had graduated from college with a degree in science. I loved Zoology and Botany, but I couldn’t muster enough willpower to face the dreaded entrance exams. As I now fully understand, just thinking about becoming a doctor was one thing, but actually becoming a doctor was quite another. Better late than never. How hard was it for this numbskull to get it? Only it wasn’t. If only I had known how to solve this little puzzle about becoming a medical professional a little earlier, I think I could have turned my world upside down or something. Yes, if only I knew how to get off my pathetic ass and do it the way it’s meant to be done, I would have been president of the United States twice or crowned monarch of Great Britain ten times. But it didn’t work, because I was trapped in the chaos of a mundane but happy existence, and this happened in spite of the fact that I actively dreamed (even actively thought) of living the life of a doctor. Try not to throw me rotten tomatoes just yet. However, if you are fresh, you can try! Just deal with me.
Some people say, “Medicine is not for everyone.” This may be true; unless you can submit to the hard work, effort, determination, endless personal struggles, and a million other things that weigh on your every waking day until you reach medical nirvana. As far as my fantasy of medicine as a career option is concerned, I think my goose was already cooked for no involvement when I confused “hobby” with “career” due to lack of understanding and proper enticement. – I think it’s passion on my part. I don’t know where I was when God dispensed gray matter (the brain) to cozy individuals like the ones you’re reading this free-flowing parody of going front and center. I was most likely swimming or taking a long siesta under that brilliant three-bladed beige trusty Orient fan, moored in the eternal expanse of blissful contentment and blissful shamelessness of my bedroom.
And so I was entangled in the regularly churning Wheel of Time, this lone confused soul wandering around the ever-expanding galactic space of the Universe with no apparent (Magic?) gift for predicting the near future. Man simply could not think of a way out of his abyss. I thought my dark days were over, but not yet, as I painfully realized now, albeit too late. Now I know why I still feel like a tourist in my own place!
Post script: More on this topic in my next blog. Drop by whenever you can and I’ll serve it up to you, piping hot!
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