Edited By: Akshali Gugle
Are you ready?
For the ever-present humming, the red chairs, the overheated projector, the raised hands, and this incessant need to make you present an argument in front of someone who holds a PhD?
Are you ready?
I know I’m not.
I am supposed to be ready, and physically, I am. I packed my bag with pens and paper, a laptop, its charger, and Orbit gum I can chew when sleepy.
Yet, I am mentally somewhere else. Perhaps, in a shadowed enclave, with a book in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.
I’m supposed to be ready for class right now.
I’m not.
So as they call us students and ask us to think critically, I can tell you that I’m not ready. I’ve been writing essays for three years now. I still have no idea what I am arguing for or about. What are my words worth?
I’m still not ready.
So tell me.
Are you ready?
***
Are you ready?
For the long lines as the air turns steamy, the cold steel of the plate pressed against your body, the chatter, the clank of utensils, and that hunger gnawing at your stomach as the mess food causes you to detach mentally?
Are you ready?
I know that I’m not.
I am supposed to be ready because everyone needs to eat and the human body can’t live without food for long, but grease shines golden as it congeals on the food, and the rice is barely cooked, and I don’t know where my appetite has disappeared to.
I’m supposed to be able to eat.
I can’t.
So, as they call us in for meals to be had within two hours, my friends send me reminder texts, and bile sours the back of my throat, I can tell you that I’m not ready.
I’ve been learning to cook for three years now, yet the pantry inspires within me only instant noodles.
I’m still not ready.
So tell me.
Are you?
***
Are you ready?
I know that I’m not.
I am supposed to be ready because we’ve been planning this for a week now and they went out to get the bottles, everyone is dressed up, playlists are made, fairy lights borrowed, and I cannot breathe.
I’m supposed to be able to breathe.
I can’t.
So as the high heels march out, eyelids glitter under the moonlight, metal jewelry clanks, and we dash back to the room for that last coat of gloss, I can tell you that I’m not ready.
I’ve been doing this routine of dancing around a CADI for three years now.
I’m still not ready.
So tell me.
Are you ready?
***
Are you ready?
For the small talk, the shy glances, the accidental touches, the awkward silences, the hammering pulses, and that bone-aching loneliness when you’re surrounded by people?
Are you ready?
I know that I’m not.
I am supposed to be ready, with a Bumble account, a newly bought dress, pick-up lines, coy glances, and thorough consent questions.
I’m supposed to be.
I’m not.
So, I meet people and I order the same Fuel Zone drink and we talk about the same things, dance around in the same circles, and I can tell you that I am so bored.
My bed’s been empty for three years now.
I’m still not ready.
So tell me.
Are you ready?
***
Are you ready?
For the endless waiting, the questions, the gazes, the loud breaths as your mind blanks, and you don’t know who you are anymore?
Are you ready?
I know that I’m not.
I am supposed to be ready, with my statement of purpose, my letters of recommendation, my interview smile, and my five-year plan.
I’m supposed to be.
I’m not.
So, as they call us adults and ask us the big questions, I can tell you that I’m not ready.
I can vote now, which became possible three years ago.
I’m still not ready.
So tell me.
Are you ready?
***
Are you ready?
For walking up the stage in swishing robes, the clapping, the speeches, the oaths, the handshakes, and bidding farewell to people who you barely know?
Are you ready?
I know that I’m not.
I’m supposed to be, with a confirmed placement offer, a college friends trip, a writing portfolio, an offer of admission, and some published works.
I’m supposed to be.
I’m not.
So, as they congratulate us – the graduating cohort and tell us that they expect big things from us, I can only pray that I don’t die in a ditch hungry and unemployed.
I can call myself an undergraduate in English Literature now, after three long years.
I’m still not ready.
So tell me.
Are you?