On weekends, I usually indulge in mundane pastimes in which life duties have no bearing.
Going on leisurely walks, watching films, or making acquaintances. Ah, the art of living!
On most weekdays, however, I often find myself drowning in murky and troubled waters.
Where expectations and obligations gather in a swarm, taking on sharklike features
Striking after telltale signs of surrender. Leaving trails of existential horrors in their wake.
What would it take to flee and veer off the current course? I’d then sit and ponder.
To chase after rosy-deemed dreams made entirely of garments, needles, and thread.
Confiding in parents amidst the chaos is also a proven futile effort because —
‘You’d outgrow your fleeting obsessions,’ is what they always confidently mutter.
Opening room for more doubt and despair to barge in with a loud clatter.
But I learned to hide my biting resentment underneath layers of feigned indifference.
Mastered the craft of walking in confident strides and etching on saccharine smiles.
Because what good comes from performing a Shakespearean tragedy before prying eyes?
However, when the game of play-pretend becomes taxing, and patience starts wearing thin
I seek refuge in my bedroom vicinity, where I freely entertain the blood-spattered what-if musings.