How 2014 failed to ruin me

 

The idea was to push myself off a cliff. Metaphorically, of course. To write about how the idea of self, didn’t make much sense while growing up but in my 20s it’s the only thing I can think about. To fall in love, not out of compulsion, merely greedy for the most-hyped emotion in the world, but because there was no other way except to collapse and surrender. And of course, make enough money to travel the world.

To have whacky yet benevolent life experiences, which I could write a memoir about and live off its sales profit for the next five years. Be a Carrie Bradshaw and dole out fashion advice and personal sexual narratives for a column in the New York Times. Also a role-model of sorts, who is fit and agile and doesn’t need a minimum of ten hours unperturbed sleep or feed herself every two hours to make ends meet.
 

But life now, is pretty much as staid, as it could possibly be. I haven’t taken a trip anywhere but home for the last two years because I wanted to save up for a masters course abroad. And I don’t regret it (I do from time to time). I finally managed to get my passport in hand (which took five months of incessant cribbing and almost foul-mouthing the almighty). Thereafter I applied to three colleges in the UK on my own (read: with my own money) and have since then been binge eating, drinking, sleeping and awaiting a positive response from the universities.
 

At present, I probably have less than one-tenth of the amount required to make it to one of the places I aspire to attend. But me being the forever optimist about things that concern JUST me, I somehow have this “feeling” that things will sort themselves out. It really is a childhood dream (to visit platform 9 ¾, among other things). True Story.
 

Final observation on this utterly unremarkable year, full of pit stops and disgusting chocolates is that it has also been depressing, funny and utterly beautiful and brave when I was forced to deal with things instead of hiding under my bed like a little puppy.
 

ANDDDD, I have FOR REAL joined the gym. And beating my last record of two days which was two years back, I have managed to go attend the gym for five whole days (with a three-day viral fever detour in between). I have been skipping, crunching, squatting and exercising like a boss while also stuffing my face with frappes, cheese pizzas and gooey chocolate cakes, relentlessly.
 

Hopefully 2015 will also be an unpleasant surprise like 2014 has been. And I shall welcome it like a true Leslie Knope fangirl, “sophisticated with a hint of slutty.”