I’m at Cafe Coffee Day in Green Park, and a few minutes ago, I was having a conversation with a random girl sitting near me. At some point during the conversation, I said something, and she asked, “What do you mean by ‘you’?“ I had to explain how and why I use “you,” but I’m not sure if I was precise enough to make my point clear. What I said was elaborate and contained a lot of metaphors, but who remembers their own dialogue? Well, a lot of people, but not me. I’m not different; I’m just stupid.

The almost hour-long conversation revolved around her work and creative process, so the interaction was nice and engaging. Since I was on the questioning side, we ended up talking about her inspirations, her challenges, and how she overcomes creative blocks. When the conversation ended and she left, something came to my mind: I do throw around ‘you’ when I’m talking to someone, even though I’m not referring to them directly. It’s a habit I’ve developed over the years, and I assume that the other person will understand my generalizations. In my mind, I think it’s self-understood for them, but that’s not the case, and here I am, writing about it because this has been pointed out to me a lot of times. I guess it’s time to self-explain my own words. I’m not sure how it’ll go, but we’ll see.

I’m going to pivot a bit and focus on the reason in the context of writing because my back hurts from sitting too long. Frankly speaking, I think writing about it will naturally address the reason in the context of conversation as well. I’m not sure, but I don’t mind. On a lighter note, since most of what I express is through writing, it makes sense to cover this aspect first. Later, in a different blog post, I can address the same topic from another perspective. I’m lying, I’m going to write anything.

Me — When I say “you”, I’m not referring to you, you understand?
Them — What the hell do you mean?

I haven’t sat down and done any superficial introspection regarding my way of writing, but when I write, I feel like I’m having a conversation with myself. The flow switches immediately from ‘I’ to ‘you,’ like your overthinking mind is jumping from one conclusion to another — it’s just an example. The same thing happened again, and I didn’t do it on purpose. My tiny brain knows that I’m confused and trying to make sense of something, and to do that, I must say whatever comes to mind. Only later do I realize that what I said was garbage, but you recycle that garbage to get to something substantial. It’s a continuous process, but it helps you achieve clarity of thought, at least to some extent — it depends upon you. I’m not obsessed with conclusions, but I don’t mind seeing what’s at the end. After all, even a pile of trash can sometimes reveal hidden treasures if you dig deep enough — or at least a half-decent punchline. Wait, what was that? I think I got distracted. Never mind.

To be honest, I feel like I’m desperate for clarity rather than conclusions, but they’re closely related, so I can’t say much. I go to great lengths to be clear and sure of everything that means something to me or that I give some sort of priority. One thing I realized is that if I need to understand something, I’ll get close to it through writing. It happens frequently now, and it’s become a habit.

During my emo phase, I had so many uneasy thoughts and assumptions, but I overcame all of it just by trying to understand what was going on with me. Those few months were not really good in terms of anything, and I was desperate to get out of it as soon as possible. And it happened—through conversing with myself in the form of writing. I used to ask myself questions, give answers, find flaws in my flawed way of thinking, and make numerous attempts to rationalize my feelings. It made me realize that I was being extremely pathetic and stupid. Once I had this clarity, it was much easier to unload the unnecessary baggage I was carrying because I thought it would make me strong. Turns out, carrying a baggage full of shit doesn’t give you muscles — just a sore back, constant headaches, and a playlist full of sad songs. It feels like you’re trying to get fit by bench-pressing your feelings, and all you end up with is a ticket to the pity party.

Just like others, I became the victim of my habits. I’ve been so involved with myself that my way of talking has changed a bit. Even when I’m in front of someone having a conversation—especially if it involves understanding or conveying something through metaphors, or if the conversation revolves around some niche topics — it’s big brain time, I tend to drift towards using ‘you’ when I’m giving an example. The twist is, now I don’t imagine having a conversation with myself, and I’m fully present. It’s just that my way of saying things has changed.

To conclude: there are a lot of assumptions I carry, and I assume they’re going to make sense to others the same way they make sense to me. Do I plan to change the way I refer to things? I’m not sure. This hasn’t turned out to be harmful to anyone or to me. It’s just a word, after all. And if it ever does confuse someone, well, that’s just part of the fun, isn’t it? I’m more than happy to elaborate.

“Everything that I’m saying totally makes sense to me” — Bill Burr