The Honest Truth About 2009.

2009 was a year of sadness. Of crying over ghosts of girlfriends past. Of anti depressants and change. Of de addiction and cleanliness. Of taking matters into my own hands and doing something about my life. Of hardly falling ill and gaining weight in the end. Of forgetting old friends and creating new ones. Of finding out who I was and where I came from. It was about diving into the big bad city of Delhi and finding out if I can stay afloat. It was about turning over a new leaf. A tobacco free and an (almost) alcohol and marijuana free year. It was about changing my wardrobe and reshaping my alter ego. It was about adjusting once again to a new language and a new culture. It was about theatre and a new twist to the tale. It was about finding new pretense and new ways of being shallow and empty. It was about moving house. It was about one hard break up, one dark stormy night and unimaginable pain. It was about her and her voice in my ear crashing me down to the ground. It was about picking myself up and walking on ahead. It was about rebirth. It was about leaving the handrail and swimming across the middle of the pool and staying there to see if I would float. It was about steadfastness and strength. About a chilly day in Chandigarh with an equally chilly phone call. About the dream of a wrinkly hand reaching out and holding me, even when my eyes had opened. It was about staying with that dream. It was about hope. It was about keeping the lamp lit at all costs. It was about love, luck and normalcy. It was the search for a system, to stop double guessing myself and questioning my motives. It was about excessive thinking and how to stop it. It was about moving away from a loved one to stay in love. It was about looking for those that missed your presence. It was about those that asked where I was. It was about being rude for want of a better way to act. It was about taking and not giving back. About giving and not taking back. It was about coldness and calculation; bondage and seperation. It was about you and me. It was about us and the meaning our existance. It was about now and what to do with it. It was about self righteousness and self pity. It was about crying over spilt milk. It was about memories and what to do with them. It was about the search for a guru. It was about all this and more but I cant seem to remember all of it. Because in the end, it was about you.