Category: Thoughts uncut

Street smarts

I often vent (offline) about living in a pedestrian-hating city. I think it’s horrible. Some of the roads are full of potholes, mud puddles, slippery plastic bags mingled with garbage, and are just plain un-walkable. Then there’re vehicles and senseless drivers who almost brush against you when you walk. Oh, and on an average day, you’d hear at least fifty different honking frequencies over the course of a five-minute walk.

It’s horrible. That’s why few people walk and advocate for walking as a way of commute. Apart from the mental and the noise pollution, you’d also have air pollution and nostril violation.

As you can see, I love ranting about the street conditions in my area.

A couple of days ago, however, I saw something that put a different perspective in light. A group of women walked with absolute disregard for the vehicles whizzing by them. As a regular walker myself, I make sure I don’t get in the motorists’ way, even by accident. I’d walk on uneven rocks on the side of the road just to avoid the speeding drivers.

These women, though, cared not one bit. They waved their arms in the air talking while they waited to cross the busy highway (freeway) on which trucks cruise every day. Though obvious, they were distracting the driver sending all kinds of mixed signals. Drivers can’t brake at whim, and when someone puts their hand out, it seems to them as if that pedestrian would jump onto the moving vehicle.

I learnt this during my front-seat rides while my brother drove. He’d often swear at pedestrians who run into the street without warning. Though they’re often confident that they can cross the street without getting hit, it always scares the person behind the wheel.

When I saw the women do the same, I wondered how wrong I am to blame only the motorists. We pedestrians aren’t any better.

We need more stringent road rules and decent infrastructure.

Side note and moment of epiphany: From complaining about the masses I’ve begun complain about the authority. How mature of me.

P.S: I describe my observations of the city I live in. I’m aware that it isn’t the same everywhere else. I’ve walked through so many streets in California dropping my jaw at the street sense there. (Portland, I’m looking at you.)

Situations

Rushing emotion threatened to betray her resolution.

He hadn’t noticed. She’d been around, though, lurking behind the water cooler, perched at her desk, throwing side glances each time he paused for a drink or walked by to the men’s room.

She’d pined to talk to him, to express her desires and disappointments, to have him listen and agree. Yet a craven lass she was. Colleagues knew naught of the turmoil she waged within, and none cared enough to care either.

Bottling up all her impulses, she remained mute and desolated, unable to ask her boss for the vacation she deserved.

Recharging in solitude

I’m introverted, but for a long time I avoided declaring it in public because people consider it a negative trait.

The reason? My introversion makes me crave solitude. And that’s not something our society encourages. We live in a world that loves sociableness, motivates loud energy, and appreciates extroversion. In such a world, I found it hard to be alone without attracting misconceptions and raised eyebrows.

A lot of people see solitude as sadness. While I prefer and choose to dine alone, my acquaintances consider it their duty to keep me company. Not because they want to share a conversation, but because it makes them uncomfortable to see someone sitting by themselves, unperturbed by the rest of the world. To that extent, some people equate solitude to unnaturalness.

Solitude, on the contrary, is a gift. I see it as a well-deserved gift I give myself so that I can recover from all the unpleasant things I face each day. It’s my choice to spend time alone with my thoughts. It doesn’t make me lonesome, for no external force drives me to be alone. The desire to recuperate stems from self-motivation. And that’s what makes me set aside a specific time each day for myself. It doesn’t matter if I’m productive or not during that time. What matters is that I focus on my soul and mental health, prioritising my well-being over all others.

When I’m alone, I hear myself better. I drown the noise from the rest of the world and focus on my inner voice. It tells me what I need to know, and guides me in the right path.

Spending time with myself lets me love myself more—because I become comfortable in my own skin, in my own presence, learning to appreciate my successes and failures.

And that’s why we should all give ourselves a chance. We learn more from our reflections than we often realise.

Hey, universe… A little help?

“And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”

Does it, though?

When I read The Alchemist years ago, this particular quote stood out to me more than any other. It wasn’t just me, everyone spoke about Paulo Coelho’s declaration that the universe accommodates the dreamer. It was aspirational, and it led me to believe in myself a little more than I did before.

That was years ago.

As I grew up and dreamt of bigger and more worthy goals, I realised that the universe was far from helping me. It started to seem as if the universe was going out of its way to prevent me from reaching my heart’s desire. Every task turned sour. Every day, and every want became painful to swallow. I started channelling my anger and frustration at Coelho for stuffing my head with false promises when none of his claims worked for me. Not that I failed in all of my endeavours, but the process of achieving them often seemed like sheer luck or extensive effort. None of my successes came easy, and by the time I completed a tiny goal I was too tired even to celebrate. And for that I pitied myself and hated everyone else. Jealously crept through me as my colleagues and acquaintances succeeded without expending even half of my efforts. It infuriated me that they had life the easy way when I—who craved for it more than they did—struggled to stay afloat.

It was unfair.

Here I am stringing bits and pieces to capture the bigger picture while the undeserving got all the opportunity I should have.

I’m ashamed now, But I was so jealous then.

I still believe in Paulo Coelho’s aspirational words, but instead of trusting them in a blind way, I take them with a grain of salt.

I’ve realised that sometimes the universe tests us, torments us, and taunts us to see how much we want what we want. Sure, some people might not face challenges, but it’s the challenges and the way we meet them that determine how deserving we are. More often than not, we give up even before we face those challenges.

I’ve wanted to give up so many times—I’d considered all the negativity as a sign for me to stop trying. As if all the hurdles in the path towards my goal are omens telling me I shouldn’t pursue my goals.

And I think that’s where most of us fall behind. We get so close to achieving our goals, after striving for years, and as we encounter one more step back, we decide to step back altogether.

But if we hang on, persevere despite all the world telling us not to, the universe just might turn in our favour. It won’t happen in an instant, and it may not happen for a long time, but some time the horizon will come.

Father’s voice

Bright and beautiful, her mother’s dress flowed around her ankles. Creaseless and ironed twice, it was the perfect addition to her marital glow.

Radiating all kinds of happiness, Bess walked down the aisle, her arm locked in mine. In health and in sickness, I’d stood by her side, supporting her throughout to achieve her dreams and assure her desires—just as I’d vowed.

For twenty-seven years we relied on each other, for breakfast and warm clothes to a shoulder to cry on over heartbreaks and breakups. None other came between us—for I am hers, and she mine.

Until, Richard.