Connection is in the Air

Eradication. Google defines 'eradication' as the 'complete destruction of something; elimination, removal, suppression'. That's a biased definition already. Why 'something'? Feelings. Emotions. Thoughts. Memories. These are what make up a human, and what I was made of too, not anymore though. These are not things, but they can be destroyed too, ask me! I am eradicated, and I have nowhere to go, to hide. I am not a victim of a tragic love affair, nor had I ever been involved in one- well, that's something that can be called tragic. I need to get over this, I need someone..something?

It could barely be called romantic, the first time we met. I was walking down the road, with a friend of mine, when we spotted our colleague some distance away. There was an unfamiliar 'figure' with her. We walked towards her. Close enough, our eyes met, and I coughed. It's a pity I don't remember the severity of the conversation that followed, for the only memory that still remains in my chain of thoughts is that of our lips meeting. I remember feeling choked. It was my first cigarette.

I feel I'm locked in a cage, all 'alone'. I can see through, see my friends; the people who want to help me, who want me out.  It's a cage I have built around me, and I find it hard there. I feel eradicated. I talk to myself when I'm in there. Sometimes, actually most often, I walk around, around the cage. It's a wide cage that way; well, it's the whole world. It's me who's perceiving the bars around, so much so for virtual reality. 

Twinkling stars manage to garner our attention, but flashing headlights, those bright, warning signs are waves that our heads have so conveniently fine tuned to ignore. It was long before we met again, but meet we did. A puff this time; I didn't choke on it. It's an art I was told, an art that needed no creativity; just strong lungs.

Ladders exist, to everywhere. The first thought that climbs up our head when we see a ladder, is to scale it. Tetrahydrocannabinol; Marijuana, if you're not into Science, that is. That's where the path led me. A couple of times, that's that. The art offered a social platform, a gathering where we all felt 'alive'; at-least we claimed so. I wasn't addicted, I was far from it in fact. I would see a chain of smokers all day, and it's only now that I realize that I never 'noticed' them. A cursory glance and I was back in my rhythm, the art I have lost now.

A heavy start, I agree. What is it that I could possibly share to lighten the mood? Introductions are cliched. But, well, you need some background to relate to me. Do you really want to relate to me though? Given what you've read, you probably want to stay away from me, just like I want to stay away from the world.

Walking in my cage, I saw them do it; smoking a cigarette. I finally noticed the calm, the calm that was visible on their faces. The first meeting and the subsequent 'social encounters' had prepared me. Prepared me for this. I bought one. One cigarette. The smoke filled my cage. It felt good. I had found someone something. 

A name. A difficulty. That's my background. I don't want to go into the details of it, they're not something I can fathom into words, for I don't know them myself.  It was years after my first puff though, years after which I was eradicated. That first meeting of our lips, could it have been avoided? The cough; the sign was there. The choking; the sign was there. And here I am now, in my cage.

It wasn't long before I was smoking more than just one. The times I was alone, which was most of the time, were allotted to an extensive practice of this art. A trickery of fingers, I called it. Desires and cravings of every other palpable thing had taken a backseat, and the smoke was driving me forward. I had friends who were concerned, always, but the barricades were firm in my head. I was eradicated, but I felt good. It was no longer one cigarette. One packet, my suitcase.

Roads exist, out of everywhere. It's the pace you decide to take, that matters really. I was feeling better than what it felt like at the beginning. This seemed like the way I could get out, into the real world. An art that I knew would exhaust my lungs, seemed to be the only sane thing I could think of. Insane. 

Candles. They're found at the funeral pyre. They're also found in temples. The signal of liberation, is what they bring with them. The warning signs were flashing, agreed. It molded me, no doubt. Who was to say that there would no unmolding? I had unlearnt the ways of life, the smoke brought me back. I was recreated.

We are social creatures, that's what we are. We establish bonds and connections in a manner more intricate than the biological marvel that unfolds within us. At times, those connections will break. But being from the generation that has accepted Evolution as the way of life, we must believe that we as humans are advanced enough to adapt. There are different ways of adapting, but who's to decide which one is right? There is baggage that comes with the breaking of those bonds, but who's to say that you can't discard it? Be a suitcase, friend, be a suitcase. Discard the contents, start anew. The goal is the same, the pace to reach there, different. Unlearn before you can learn. It took me a few suitcases; I hope you need none.

// This is not the story of my life. It is inspired by different events and experiences that I have come across in real life and through social media.