By Aadya Dua
If my life was a movie, I'd rate it a strong 3 on IMDb
At 13, I waltzed with the idea of adulthood
I dreamt of being 30, flirty and thriving in New York city
With a walk-in closet, a fun job
Chasing stories, catching feelings
Sipping dirty martinis with my girls on the weekend
When an email notification summons me back
To a small cubicle, boring black pants and dried up group chats
On the blank screen, I see a person who looks a lot like me
Only with bored expressions, and eye bags all the way down to her knees
The curtain dropped long back, prom night is over
Yet somehow, I find myself
Sitting in a far-off corner of a high-school canteen
I sit with Discontent, Despair and Dread
Uncertainty also takes a chair, rather nervously
Friends that I didn't want, but couldn't lose either
Mom, I am afraid I am at the wrong table. But no else seems to be offering me a seat.
Mom, I fear I selected the wrong clique.
I longingly look at the Golden table
Far from us, sit Success and Abundance
Fame quickly pulls in her seat
Wearing Pink on a Wednesday
They are the high school royalties
Everyone here wants to be their friends, only a few make the cut
It's a total grind
Maybe I need a makeover
A soul-stirring speech
Or just being the princess of a fictional country could be the key
Maybe I just need the popular guy to fall in love with me
Now that I am older, I don't dream anymore
I ache
For slow mornings, cancelled meetings
Sundays that don't feel like borrowed time
And weekend getaways
I wish I could skip to the end montage of this movie
The part where everything works out
One that I will have to create in real life
With my own hands and will, piece by piece
A true tragedy
In the end, I hope I won't find myself
Back in that cursed canteen
With Regrets finding way to my table
And Wasted Potential taking in the last seat begrudgingly
Mom, I am trying. But I am stuck at the wrong table.
And no one else is offering me a seat.
Mom, I fear I selected the wrong clique.
Mom, there is no one coming to save me.
But me.