Understanding Myself, Just a Little Better Ipsita Basu

Shouting, tantrums, chiding, infuriation; I scuttled back into my room and slammed the door to defy my parents exhortations and advice. What followed was the sulking and tears, complete with the customary introspection. I fashioned the introspection to my own convenience with the use of platitudinal notions; I was a teenager whom they did not understand because of the generation gap. After wallowing in some more self pity and tears, the big bag of chips and songs hosting themes of ‘isolation’, ‘angst’ and ‘ignorance’ seemed necessary. In attempt to stop the self-generated profuse tears, I tried some motivational talk which ended in consolation that it was okay to cry since I was a girl.

It had been a while since I had faced this situation.

Or rather, created it. Not that the short-lived introspection had helped sufficiently, it was more the effect of long drawn rumination. This was such a generic scenario. Emotions were supposed to be so individual, so personal yet this may as well have been the story of every teenager. Why were we all so similar?

No we weren’t; We were impelled to act similarly, to direct our thoughts in a certain way. It is actually expected that we didn’t understand our parents and choose to seek distance...