Perfection. The keyword catches my eyes as I swirl the ice-cubes in the glass of the golden adrenalin.
Isn't that why I drown myself in alcohol. Isn't that the burning desire that has alas turned my life and everything I hold dear into ashes.
What force draws me to that elixir of life? The abominable wish to numb pain? Even if it is a temporal relief? The pain I feel, unfortunately, is too deep and no amount of intoxication even reduces a fraction of it.
Then why do I resort to this so often?
Perfection -- That is the reason why I subject myself to an alcohol induced sleep. Because whatever happens today, however much it hurts, however much i cry, tomorrow is inevitable. Tomorrow, I have to wake up, tomorrow I have to subject myself to the physical needs, tomorrow I have to drive, tomorrow I have to reach office. Tomorrow Asif has to appear in front of the whole world, in a way only he knows how he does it.
And if Asif has to do that, to again stand up, to again prove to the world that if not the best, he is among the best, then he needs rest. He needs atleast a few hours of sleep, he needs to keep that pain from turning into horrendous nightmares, he needs to relax. Because whatever happens, life doesn't stop. Whatever happens today perfection has to be attained tomorrow in each and every sphere of life, in each and every thing that he touches -- from parking perfectly, to a perfectly analysed and composed business case, to a perfectly executed fore-hand topspin on the table-tennis board.
Perfection, in everything I do.
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