I Proclaim Myself a Victim of Fate
There are, in this world, two kinds of people. There are those people who make things happen—shaping the world around them through sheer willpower (cough Jeremy cough)—and there are those people to whom things happen. I am not one of the former.
My life has always moved by way of fortuitous circumstances, rather than careful planning. All of my big changes and significant times happened quite by accident. Someone would say something—“when are you going to Carey?” “you should come and stay with us in Kolkata,” “are you looking for fulltime work?”—and Things Would Happen.
Trouble is, sometimes I want to Make Things Happen, and I just can't. This cheeses me off. I have (you will all be well aware) a propensity to make big plans which inevitably end up abandoned by the roadside, tied in a brown burlap sack and kicking feebly. Occasionally I halfway follow through on a plan, and—judging by the way you, my loyal caring friends, react—my small achievements are roughly equivalent to circumnavigating Mars in a leaky sand-dinghy. (Although, that would be pretty sweet.)
Anyway. I'm beginning to accept the idea that I am not of the ‘make plans and execute them’ variety, unless by execute you mean ‘take out the back and shoot.’ I am destined to be driven by the fates, a victim and beneficiary of circumstance.
Ah well, it's working so far. Apart from that short film that I'm seriously planning to make eventually. A little help, circumstance? Hello? Circumstance?