Dolce far Niente

Today’s been one of those kind of days.

One of those days where while my physical form is confined to the four-walls of my school, my heart achesfrom a weird homesickness. Usually it is me who is running away from the 3 bhk I have spent the past 8 years in, but during one of such days, I cannot wait till the moment my foot steps in it. I cannot wait to embrace mother and melt into her shoulders, trusting her enough to carry my body long after all the spirit inside of it has left. One of those days where my eyes are droopy with an exhaustion I cannot fight, having to succumb to it for the rest of the evening: my limbs tangled with the cushions on my bed, my black jacket
covering my face with its felt brushing my cheeks, my drool sliding down my chin. That day where I wake to find my father on our sofa, where we spend most of our time digging into long conversations. Where I can droop on his side and restore my faith in this life with his caressing hand and encouraging words. Where we can lay till the end of time, until sweat perspirates on both of us, until one of us needs to get up to speed up the fan. After, I can take the liberty of renouncing any and all work, even though I have an unending to-do list or an exam the day after, and spend hours talking to my best friend about the most pointless things in the world because in that moment, they hold tremendous value. Days where my dad brings me a chilled glass of coconut water and ignites everything faded inside of me and my brother video calls me to show me the new pair of shoes he’s bought, only to convince me to buy those too. Those days where he and I joke endlessly, jokes that only we understand and hold our stomach from bursting laughter. One of those days where my uncle sends me songs sung by his friends, something that I listen to on loop for the rest of the night because of how well its expressed, managing to sneak in a little bit of Harry Styles here and there as always. Days, even though this is most days, my mother will keep pouring in the potatoes she made, all too worried that the amount on my plate won’t be enough for me, scared that my stomach won’t be left satisfied. I wish I could tell her that even a morsel made by her hands can satisfy my hunger for the rest of my life. It is on days like these, where my society forgets to switch on the park lights or when my dad is leaving for tour the next day, that seem to put my entire life into perspective, but at the same time become a stream of lethargy and positive apathy. I believe it was the Italians who coined it dolce far niente, their term
for sweet idleness.

It is on days like these that it consumes me.