Rants of an eighteen year old

Mridusmita Barman

At the age of 18;I was closer to ebooks than the smell of old books,
At the age of 18;I read more letters of dead lovers than blue ticked texts.
At the age of 18; I glorified death,
I was waiting for a Augustus Waters or maybe a Will Traynor,
To tell me that “I will be loved deeply if not widely” or maybe to tell me “to buy my own freedom and live boldly.”
At the age of 18;I joked about my insecurities before people could,
I was timid,scared or maybe too tired of explaining that I was different.
At the age of 18;I watched more chick flicks and high school romances,
They made me believe that I was good as I was even if only for few hours.
Maybe I was waiting for the Peter Kavinsky to my Lara Jean,
Or maybe I too preferred forget me nots over dandelions.
At the age of 18;I seeked social validation for my existence,
Price tags to my soul;likes to the kind of person I was.
At the age of 18;the mirror scared me,
Sylvia Plath’s mirror lied;my one spoke the truth.
At the age of 18;I chose oat cookies over chocolate sundae,
At the age of 18;my flabby arms weren’t the only thing that disgusted me.
At the age of 18;I sang myself to sleep,
“I am dancing in the dark”, but the scenario was different.
At the age of 18;I came across a term that changed me for good,

Ikigai-the art of living as it is called.
At the age of 18;I chose self love over social validation,
At the age of 18;I learnt that I had to love myself before anyone could,
At the age of 18;I knew its all about how we look at things,
At the age of 18;I was once again addicted to the smell of old books,Prateek Kuhad songs and more chocolate sundae on a lazy summer afternoon,
At the age of 18;I went of late autumn evening walks,
At the age of 18;I loved myself for who I was
/Ikigai~ the reason for being//