Snowflake in An Avalanche

At the very outset, my most sincere apologies to the four and a half people (including my sister's two friends) who truly missed my blog posts. And average apologies to the rest who missed my blog posts just because they had nothing better to do than be bemused by adolescent jargon. (You know I love you guys and completely suck at being nonchalant, right? :P)


(Okay, I have something to share with you, but I'll do it later because I have to behave modestly for the sake of propriety, but please remind me if I forget!)


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When I was 8, it was such a big word. I couldn't imagine ever being able to spell it correctly.
When I was 11, I was blissfully ignorant about it.
16 was when I found it fashionable to shirk it.
I'm turning 18 next month, and am already bogged down by it.
I’m talking about that 14-letter word that fills every newly inducted adult with a sense of excruciating dread – responsibility.




Ah, those simpler times when responsibility meant doing your homework fast enough so you could play "Hide and Seek" with the building friends. Oh, that period of carefree abandon when being irresponsible only meant forgetting your homework at home and inventing creative excuses to cover it up. Responsible was the person who got picked Class Monitor, or School Prefect.
Responsibility has arisen from its murky depths (or glorious ashes, as might be the case), to take on its arch nemesis- the hapless young adult. From something as simple as dealing with team members during projects and warming up food for your overworked father to making pertinent life choices.


You know when the enormity of this struck me? 
When I went to SBI the other day, to fill in a scary-looking form to open a bank account. To deposit my intern-happy stipend. It's not too much, but makes me glad nonetheless. It's my first salary. (Stipend, my boss corrects me for the umpteenth time!) 
When I went for Independence Rock the same evening, and saw a nuclear mushroom hovering above the venue. The ghastly migraine-triggering smell informed me, it was just a drug-produced smoke cloud. 
( I have decided to make an effort to not be judgmental about the latter. Drugs, alcohol and the like are their personal choices, and I have no business opining and meddling. My definition of correct isn't the same as theirs, as someone very wise told me recently.)


But anyway, it made me realize that "I've become a big girl". 
And I'm happy about that. A little terrified, but happy still. :)


Oh, and for my big news!


I stood first in the Story-Writing Competition held in college. (I have a cool new pen drive and discount vouchers to prove it!) Of the many topics, I chose to write as a serial killer who has to justify his actions to the reader. Twisted, and rather interesting. 
I wasn't too happy with the way I concluded my story, but who cares? I won! I beat the second-year scribblers  and third year pedants! :P


"No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible."
Voltaire