Dawn

The sunlight streamed in from the window, making me cringe as it hit my face. The rocking to-and fro motion had become a part of me by now. A journey made much longer than what was required. I could hear the chatter and laughter from the next compartment. Brown berths (blue seemed prettier, somehow, tired souls, frustration flowing out, hurriedly wrapped in the form of jest, straining to let the sarcasm out, get away from present company, away from the three hurried days in another city.

I turned away from the yellowing scenery to spot the source of the voice which called out to me. There it was. Sarcastic banter. To and fro. Throughout the journey. Good entertainment, mentally stimulating.

I finally turned back to the window with a “You think I care?”

“What do you care about, Ms. Shively?”

I looked up, gave an answer which reeked of pfaff, and returned to my beloved window. But the yellowing scenery was no longer beautiful. I was deep in thought. And I hated myself for letting him get to me. Specially when he didn’t even realize the significance of what he’d said. But I had never thought that someone who barely knew me would ask me that.

The same question. Twice in a month. And I still didn’t have an answer.

It bothered me.

What do I care about?

I’m not enthusiastic about any sport, any music band, any hobby that I religiously follow. I feel jealous of my friends fanaticism about golf and tennis. I don’t have a fetish for shopping (simply because I can’t afford it), for butterflies or vanilla essence, for art or literature, for counter strike or any other form of entertainment.

What do I get excited by? What am I passionate about? What do I live for? What would I die for?

Why are these questions haunting me again and again?

Is it that bad to not be passionate about anything in life?

Or is it unacceptable to be passionate about the morally incorrect things in life?

Am I boring simply because I can’t tell you what I care about?

Or do I scare you with my incapability of feeling strong emotions for anything?

Is my life worthless if it isn’t for something I care about?

Don’t I care about me?