Skip to main content

On Being Different...

It took me a whole night of thinking to realize that, in our lives, we have choices. Every state we reach is a result of a choice we make; of an opportunity we either seize or let go of. And looking back at the almost 24 years of my life, it seems that all the choices I have made were wrong. The older I get and the wiser I think I am, the more I depend on emotions in making my decisions. Everytime I get to this stage I sit down and think; yes, I think really hard, and I always promise myself that next time I would put a lot more rationale into my actions. Yet, when I get the chance to fix my life I always end up acting like the 15-year-old girl I was once; the girl who had just left home for college and was set free for the first time in her life.

Just the other day I had reached the mountain top for the very first time; I had reached the stage where I had actually gotten over my fears and was able to stand up on my own and prove my independence to the whole world. I knew I was making my parents proud of their little first child whose birth had made my father genuinely happy for the very first time in his life. And just a little more to the mother who was always complaining about me inheriting every little detail from my father, not forgetting to mention his attachment to a few bad habits.
Yes, I still was making them proud, only it was from the outside. Deep inside I was still shattered, still confused and hanging on to the thinnest line that kept me in touch with God.

Just the other day I was fighting to get over the broken me, learning to forgive all those that had hurt me and caused my insecurities. I forgave my parents for their overprotection and how it had turned me into an introvert; a social shyster. I forgave the guys whom I thought I loved but ended up having my heart shattered into a million pieces, over and over again. I forgave the society that deliberately judged me for trying to be who I am. But most importantly, I forgave myself for making the wrong choices, promising I would make rational decisions the very next time. I truly believed that inner peace would only be realized once I had forgiven everyone, including myself.

When it comes to fate, we don't have much of a choice, but then again we always have the choice of either facing it or trying to fool ourselves by paving a picture perfect way around it; I always chose the latter. And the moment I see happiness I become disillusioned and hang on to it emotionally, not stopping for a moment to think about the consequences. The fact is, happiness doesn't always choose to come my way, and behind that cheerful optimist who appeared to be the happiest gal on this earth, reality did not expose the helpless and scared person I was inside.

I know people who seem to be cold-hearted. To me they are heroes. Not only do they have the ability to stand strong against every emotional windblow, but they are also capable of controlling their feelings and nothing is able to deviate their pursuit for happiness. I am different.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Words of the Ordinary

It was cold outside and I was curled up on my sofa, sipping on a hot cup of chamomile tea and reading through my oldest collection of poems by William Blake. It must have been the spellbinding words that instigated this unusual feeling inside me. In a matter of seconds, my thoughts had wandered afar and I could feel myself sashaying my way into the mellow clouds. His words were echoing in my ears and mind. No, they weren’t the soft words of Blake. They weren’t the deep words of Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald’s song ‘Heaven’ that was playing in the background. They were prettier words; words that put a smile on my face and brought joy to my heart. They weren’t words of flattery. They were ordinary words that were said in a nothing but ordinary conversation. But they were words from a person who was nothing close to ordinary. A person so inspiring and intriguing; his words so heartening and pleasing.
Post a Comment
Read more

Days of Courtship

Being an avid reader of time-honoured literature and pre-contemporary works, I have spent days and nights living the stories told by the legendary Jane Austen and playing the arbitrator in Louisa May Alcott’s infamous trilogy. I must confess that I had been most profoundly captivated by the magic of the letters between Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning during the early years of their courtship. The letters that were devotedly passionate yet inscribed with utmost humility. Mind you, this is not a historical literature lesson. It’s no more than a momentary look at what I believe to be the world’s greatest courtship in literature. Robert Browning was fascinated by Elizabeth’s poems and eminence as one of the greatest poets of the Victorian era. In his very first letter to her, Robert wrote: I love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett, ---and this is no off-hand complimentary letter that I shall write, ---whatever else, no prompt matter-of-course recognition of your g...
Post a Comment
Read more

Illustrating the Thoughts of a Depressed Mind

It was a cold night. The full moon shone brightly, its soft rays gleaming through the silky white curtains that swayed gently and quietly from side to side. The room had turned into a gallery of silhouettes, with soft shadows embellishing its floor and walls. The human brain is in constant search of amusement, acknowledgement and consolation from the world around. She had no other place but that room to seek all the amusement, acknowledgment and consolation she needed to survive. Oh, how the long hours of night can turn into an entrapment for the sleepless and the forlorn. As she lay unsleeping in bed, her eyes wandered around the silhouettes and shadows, desperately looking for a pattern that could distract her disheartened mind. That was her wishful thinking, which the world seems to conspire against day in, day out. Every evening she would go home and undress herself, remembering to take off the pseudo façade she only wore outside the house. She wasn’t an artist of any sor...
Post a Comment
Read more