Walking in the park,
catching bird feet in a tree
misleading shadows.
I took this photo at the Vandalur nature reserve in Chennai. The timing was perfect. My friend and I were walking around for about three hours before sunset, and a tree became a shadow.
Each time we fall down, the world tells us to get up and dust ourselves. And then get going again.
Setbacks are stepping stones; they come to those who can face it and transform said setbacks into a positive force. Only those who can endure will endure and emerge as victorious.
The universe only pushes us down to see if we can get up again. It’s how nature weeds out the immaterial and unworthy and finds true triers. And so, we should always get back up.
For how long, though?
Perseverance — it’s one of the first lessons we learn as children. Never give up no matter how hard things become. It’s a good lesson, but often misleading.
After a certain point, it makes no sense to pursue what we know is a lost cause. Sometimes we have to give up. Sometimes, we have to accept defeat in a gracious way and move on with whatever pride that’s left in us.
There’s no point in banging a crooked nail over and over again hoping to straighten it. There’s no point in a father telling his daughter he always wanted a son — it’s a girl, dad, deal with it.
But if it’s not too late to change what’s happened, then we’re not trying hard enough. No matter how many failures we face and how many times we get back up again, if we’ve already made up our minds to lose, there’s nothing else to do.
If the heart’s not in it, no game is worth playing, and no fall isn’t worth getting up from.
Kim’s eyes streamed as she stared at her phone.
Calling it a day, Kim rushed out of the office. Driving like a maniac, she regained composure only at the Slow sign at the hospital’s entrance.
“Emergency ward,” her mind directed her up two flights of stairs, halting at the end of a long corridor. Rushing to the nurse sitting outside, she panted, “Joyce-”
He gestured and she went in shaking. On a tiny mattress lay the love of her life, who brightened up as Kim entered. Kim gave Joyce’s paw a loving stroke. And the cat mewed in satisfaction.
Her mother once told her, “Handcrafts are a girl’s best friend.”
She had always had a knack for weaving tight knots. She adored the complexity in the bonds and the scrutiny that it demanded.
It was like meditation for her; first in, then out, squirming through loopholes and around shady corners. Whenever she took a wrong turn, someone always showed up, armed with help. Every plan she wove became an adventure, and every day an action-packed, adrenaline-pumping endeavour.
And as the lawmakers came after her, they realised she was best friends with the crafty and not the handcrafts.
