The Long and Winding Road

The past 10 days have breezed by leaving barely a trace. Needless to say, a lot remains to be said and done, and precious little of what I'd planned to do within the scope of 10 days has actually come to fruition. A deep sense of frustration lingers, and the heart longs to stay where I feel most comfortable. The transition from life at home to life at a hostel has proved far more challenging than I imagined. I still feel none of the attachment to my current place of residence as I imagined i would have it this stage. The heart, still, very much lies at home!

The fact that college life itself hasn't endeared itself to me all that much is particularly unnerving. Very few of the periods in the week actually manage to capture my interest, and several of them probably wouldn't ever command it, even if I were a picture of concentration! Perhaps my marks may reflect the very same attitude. Neither poor, nor outstanding by my estimation : indicative of a supreme lack of interest! My results will only start to trickle in once I return to college on the 29th, and needless to say, I'm not looking forward to that day. Although I feel I could get along with almost everyone in my class, I haven't yet felt that deep a bond with many in my new surroundings. A majority of them still seem like strangers to me, inspite of having talked to them and conversed on a variety of topics and on a number of occasions. There still remains that gray area in the back of mind which prevents me from completely submitting myself to a new relationship. It's bewildering : the urge and the drive to move on are very much in place, but the process fails before it can even begin!

People tell me that this phase is temporary ; that adjusting to a change of this magnitude requires as much patience as it does will. I sincerely hope they're right, for at the moment, the end doesn't seem very much in sight! My own self feels diminished, as if every time I speak and interact with anyone, it's a guarded and measured me whose voice is heard. I see myself retreating into a shell, one which I hope I could well break out of once the liberating air of freedom drifts into my aching lungs. Were I to travel back to a few months before the entrance, I doubt I'd see much resemblance between the person I was and the one I now am. The freedom to be me is what I seek, and yet, for some reason I feel devoid of it, and I know not due to what or whom. It's intensely suffocating, and just one among the reasons why I don't feel like leaving tomorrow. But my bags are packed, and my ticket booked. Eventualities seem to be the order of the day. For the moment, I seldom feel myself to be the master of my own destiny. The long and winding road leads on, my frail legs yielding to its incessant call!