Living the melancholic mundane

Years too late, I am finally trying to learn how to make chai. It’s a process of experiments and I am an extremely special guinea pig for myself. Today, I added too much milk, not enough tea leaves in the mix. I will have to adjust the quantity the next time I find the strength to do it all over again. Life has almost come to standstill of sorts, a weird stability has gripped me.

What do I care about tea? Why am I trying to master it? Maybe because not much seems to be worthy of learning these days. I miss that chase.

Uncertainties are slipping away. What may seem like a dream to most, as I am painfully aware, feels like a trap I have wilfully (or not) moved myself into. What am I doing living such a melancholic mundane? What is the point of it all? Is this ever going to make sense? Is it even supposed to?

All I know is that I miss the rush that came with uncertainties. However, some of the decisions that I took in the past made me aware of how bad things can go and now I am a person who is extremely careful about the whole concept of ‘follow your dreams, no matter what the cost’. There are costs and sometimes, no matter how much you want something, they are simply too high.

It has made me too scared to jump. I know the consequences better now. The unknown fear in my heart is making me bitter. Is this what growing up means? Do I even want to? Will my heart ever beat again the way it used to at achieving little milestones? I wonder.

In the very least, I hope to soon learn how to make a decent cup of chai.

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