Jobs

Before you get overly intrigued, I am not writing a review of the Steve Jobs biopic.
  In order to become independent, especially if you want to stop living indebted to your parents, under 'their house and their rules', you need to pick up the slack. The easiest way- get a job. So, here I am at 2:30 am skimming the net for Freelance Online Writing jobs. There are a whole bunch of websites that talk about further sites offering jobs. Thank God for those or I'd be lost right now.
  What is more important that as the cocky teenager I am, I feel I have a pretty decent work ethic and a tolerable aptitude for words. I have felt since the age of 15 that I probably should have a job. Though, India being India, the only children who show the slightest bit of independence are the ones living in poverty. So as not to ruin my family's social standing, I ensure people do not mistake my independence as penury.
  This ingenious idea of getting a job has been firmly planted in my head since the past few years, and having written for a children's newspaper for the better part of the past academic year, I feel it is fairly easy. However, looking at the competition and pay I can get for writing, I'm exhilarated and terrified. The real world is scary, mostly because of the self doubt that creeps in ridiculously unexpected.
  Writing my blog has become easier now, since I have realized no one exactly cares about the crazy rants of a caged bird. I don't read blogs, so I actually expect this. However, if I am to make something of myself, I would really like to start now. I wish I had done it sooner but hell, it isn't too late. Now I resume my search for interesting, well paying jobs that maybe tone my ego down a little without completely crushing my self esteem. Wish me luck!

Scars

Sitting in Math class again, I started up with my musings mulling over an interesting conversation I recently had with a friend. According to her view, people spend their life trying to hide scars and blemishes from their body but they get tattooed which, to her, is like voluntary scarring.
  Accepting her point of view with respect and an open mind, I couldn't help but wonder. However, after a few hours of wondering, my subconscious pointed out the most obvious flaw- A tattoo is not a scar, it  is artwork.

 To me, my tattoo will represent the freedom I long for every moment of every day. It will be a symbol of my defiance, a secret insignia of the rebellion that is so hidden, it hardly has a voice. I can never explain to anyone how much it means to me because they will never understand. But every time I look at it, I will know, and I will remember what I want, where I came from and who I am. For everyone, it is a permanent reminder of a time in their life. For me, I want it to be a recollection of the rare times I did what I wanted to do.
 
A tattoo is not a scar, it is a whim, it is a fancy, it is a phase, it is a hazy might in Bangkok, it is a reminder of a broken friendship or a lost love. It is a lot of things. it is not a scar.

Time

Soo.. in a strangely tranquil mood, I became unusually philosophical though I do feel as if sitting in Math class for 4 hours straight might have had something to do with it.
   Studying the quantification of time and work, I realized time is the ultimate impeachment of freedom. Every life has a time limit, every test, every activity, every monument, every (rare) moment someone looks beautiful. As long as we are constrained in the unbreakable shackles of time, we are never truly free. However, we can be free in a moment, for a moment, for a while and in a while.
   Time gives us incentive. I've always been a 'right now' person. Everything I want is 'right now', everything I do is on impulse, everything I am is in the moment. The moment is free. This moment is free. Right now, no one is telling me what to do. For that fraction of a moment, I am not bound by material things. I am free in my mind, but for a millisecond. Given, I can't sneak off to Coachella and be back before the jiffy ends but that promise of tomorrow gives us something to live for.

  Time is the ultimate impeachment to freedom. But it is still the measure of all things universal. The time in which the earth rotates, the time it takes for a star to shoot across plants, the time it takes for an ant to cross the road, or for me with it. Time is everything. It is what makes us free.
  Strange ranting, I concur, but it is food for the marijuana-infused mind. Mine isn't, but I honestly think this is how people think when they are high. Maybe someday I'll find out. Maybe. Someday.

Reason to survive- Raison De Etre

Eleutheromania is an obsession with freedom. There! I gave it away.

  I did that so I could explain how I feel. Do you know that feeling when you want something so desperately every thought you have surrounds it, you suddenly become an insomniac, every move you make is directed towards it, it becomes your sole reason of survival?

  Well, getting out of this city, tattoos, dip dyed pink hair, Coachella- that is all I can think about. It is everything I want with every fiber of my being. It drives me crazy to want something with such a lust that I am blind to all other actions and consequences. All my prudence is focused towards this and for this, I have become the sum of my id. My conscience is blunted and I defy all logic.

  I finally felt true obsession, true motivation and a reason to live. It's nice, strange, maddening and peaceful. As I always did, I laugh perhaps even harder now at the teenagers who look for 'love' at this tender age. The rush of having something you want a hair's breadth away but just out of reach pales the Shakespearean notion of passion in comparison. My heart is soaring, my words are free and my mind is wandering, venturing into every possibility, every ambition, drowning me in memories of things I have never even seen. I'm driven and I'm driven mad but if this is madness then put me in a straitjacket and you will never even hear me complain. I am free in my mind but my body wants everything to be tangible. The wanderlust is overwhelming and the cage around my heart is cracking slowly, freeing me from myself.

Introduction

I'm not going to make it easier for you and just tell you what eleutheromania is so please look it up. This blog is for my selfish reasons- to get my creative juices flowing as I (mostly in vain) try to come up with something to write, and to remind myself that no matter how often I feel like my freedom is a fallacy, my freedom of expression isn't.

I am a narcissistic teenager, on the verge of becoming a rebel, defying every expectation and norm because I am an incongruent liberal in this city of thinly veiled hypocritical conservatives. I am currently trying to get into a good college, despite my lack of interest in academics because it seems like the only way I might get away from the ideology and ostentatious culture I have come to loathe.

All I want to do with my life is travel, eat and write. "I'm in love with places I've never been to and people I've never met." I am a voracious reader, a compulsive TV addict and I pretty much worship chocolate. I am obsessed with the idea of freedom because I have lived a thousand lives vicariously but now I just crave more. I am an adrenaline junkie, Eminem worshipper and just an average kid.

The only cage I need is the one around my heart. My reality is juxtaposed with my ambition and I'm breaking out of this glorious prison I have been taught to love. I have my roots and I love my anchor but its time to branch out and the wanderlust is overwhelming.

Alis volat propriis- 'she flies with her own wings'. I finally realized I don't need to become a Victoria Secret's Angel to earn my wings, which is a relief because I could never be that skinny. Now instead of ranting like an insomniac on a procrastination spree, I should bid adieu and start studying.

Words are my key out of this prison and I need to learn more than just that if I am to get into college. Goodnight, goodbye and dream- it's the best escape from reality.