In standard XII, my chemistry tutor told me an analogy. He said, “Imagine, you are kicking a football. But there is no goal post. You will be stuck kicking the ball aimlessly your whole life, if you do not have a goal.”

Right now, I feel like that imaginary football player. I am kicking my life around – taking it down memory lane, resting it on a Sunday afternoon gallery, speeding along the expressway of a job, mingling through gullys of friends and family – and yet all of this feels meaningless. It’s like when I am done kicking the ball of life, the whole day, I don’t know where to put it at night.

I wonder, is there a point to all of this? Is this daily society acceptable routine somehow magically going to take me on a road where the journey not only looks good; but also feels good?

Will I ever know what my goalpost is?

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