I, Me, Myself.

I am not a very selfless person. Like almost every one of us, I am pretty selfish.

But then, there are always incidents and moments that hit home the fact that I am not all about me. There are other aspects to this individual's life too.

I am ageing. So are my parents.

I have dreams. So do my parents

I have hang-ups. So do my parents.

I have heart breaks. So do they.

In these similarities, there is an ocean of differences.

I am ageing, gracefully, taking my time, enjoying my newly found adulthood. My parents are ageing, fast, beyond youth to old age. My grace is complimented ferociously by their fade. I am enjoying the clock ticking away as I grow, I dread as the clock tick for them, as they grow old.

I have just about started to dream with open eyes and a clear mind. They have lived past the age for new dreams, knowing that they have counted time to fulfil their own. They now live dreams that they see through my eyes. Always trying to find fragments of theirs in mine. If they don’t succeed at first, they alter theirs to make them look a lot like mine.

I live in an age where i have a mind that can be moulded beyond my perceptions and acceptance. They live in the age bracket where they can’t change much. They have grown to be a certain way. They have learnt to accept certain norms in life.

I have overcome the heartaches of teenage to more realistic career, life and ideology based heartbreaks. They have moved beyond heartaches of any kind to my heartaches.

Today, there was a simple discussion about plans for my 25^th birthday. I was resentful but they had plans for a wish I rarely say.

In moments like these I feel small. I feel helpless. I feel I haven’t done anything yet. Not for my selfish self, but for people whose world, dreams and time, selflessly, revolves around me.