Somewhere I Should Belong, by Deafult


I used to be the tomboyish Buttercup, among the three Powerpuff Girls. I really didn’t have much of a choice, both my cousin sisters has already made their choice. But now that I think of it, Blossoms was too bossy for me, and Bubbles perhaps too girly. Or that was just a defence mechanism theory I made up. But none of it really matters now.

I usually preferred to go to my mother’s place, because there were video games there, and my cousins were almost my age, with one of them being four years elder, and the other being two years elder. But in my dad’s family, I was freakingly the youngest. I was the youngest in my mom’s side too, but then it was freaky in my dad’s family because there was this really huge age gap. As of now, I’m the only one who is still in college. And they used to play FIFA in their computers, and I, well I got bored of trying to figure out who had the ball. I was too lazy to be bothered. And when I played, I used to press the keys randomly till I somehow made a goal. Spontaneous planning and zero strategy.

My dad’s family also came with another added feature, and that was lecturing the life out of you. Literally, draining out any sense you have left. My dad’s younger sister wouldn’t bother so much, because she knows I will run away. But my uncle doesn’t show me any mercy at all: even if I don’t pay attention to him, even when I make faces that say ‘I don’t care’, look all around me but not at him, he would still go on. And on and on and on and on and on. And on.

My dad was no different, but definitely better. The same story again and again, how they grew up, how their dad used to be so strict, etc. etc. I had already had enough, but they would never have enough!

The biggest tragedy (for me, probably comedy for my cousins) is that because I am the youngest, they (uncles and aunts) love to bully me. And lecture me. They’re kids are perfect, only I need all the free advice in the world. My other aunt, was a professor (now retired). That too physics. My congenital enemy’s (maths) relative. What she explained didn’t really add much to the very little I already knew. At least she didn’t irritate me as much as my uncle did.

Apparently, I was a mega source of unending entertainment for my uncle, who would question everything and everybody, including the bored looks I would give him; my friends too were like new crime scenes to him. Everything I did: reading a book, failing or topping an exam, or even listening to music were new areas of interest for him. I was his lab rat. His subject NM. He would ignore the bored looks I give him, but now, I also argue with him. A lot. After all, why should I agree with him at all? That his opinion is always right. No. I always had my own ideas, opinions and weird theories to life. He believed in planning. Maybe a little too much. On the other hand, I stopped planning stuff a long time ago, because anyways it is not going to be as I planned. Life is always full of surprises, and there’s a limit to which you can plan.

My grandfather, mom’s dad, was addicted to news channels. He would watch it all day, and wouldn’t miss the 9 p.m. news for anything in the world. And we would watch HBO and Star Movies only by 9:30 p.m. He loved to irritate us.

I also have this uncle who is always watching news; must be why I am quite allergic to news channels. Also, they would create a hype that my cousin was studying, so keep the volume. Watch it on mute. And now there’s a kid there. The same thing again. They should probably sell their TV as only the uncle actually uses it, because you can actually watch news on mute.

And when it comes to my own parents, well most of the time, I am not sure if I am their kid, or if they are mine.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s