ScribeHippie

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Category: Zest – Life & Inspiration

Trapped in the present

March 31, 2020 /

The present feels surreal. It has an eerie undertone of history and an uncanny impression of a fictitious future. It feels like an illusion as much as it appears real. As if, without any notice, pages have been torn off a script we all unquestioningly followed, leaving an existential quandary. A lacuna we don’t know how to fill or confront. We didn’t see it coming. We were not prepared. We never asked for it. But it is here. The Present. Unpredictable and chaotic. And truth be told, the unfamiliarity of this present is frightening.

Not long ago, the present was a lot different. Not flawless, but unsurprising and liveable. We had our plans on track, our priorities in check and our lives in control. We went along doing what we had to, addressing relevant matters; dismissing issues that didn’t belong to us — or those that we thought never would. But everything changed dramatically! Relevance, Priorities and Fears. A present that was someone else’s misfortune few sunrises ago, became our predicament. It traversed all physical and political frontiers to stand before us and stare us down our souls. We can’t dodge this present. We can’t afford to outface it either.

This present is a novel pandemonium. We are in the same boat. Yet, we don’t know which side of the fence we belong. Are we bystanders? Or are we partakers in this chaos? But in reality, there is no fence and we are catalysts for the whole commotion. Much like a potent unit in the domino theory. It’s a present where our existence has become a threat to another’s. Our breaths, a weapon of murder. Our desires, ideas and plans don’t matter anymore for they no longer fit this turbulent screenplay.

This present has forced us to retreat into our caves – a bitter analogy to the eras of stratocracy, regime and tyranny that we have only read of. Of wars and reigns. Of innocent people lying concealed in their homes, pinning their lives on decrepit doors and walls, constantly aware of their proximity to the captors. But isn’t our struggle a lot different? We are not victims of confinement. We are global citizens who are obligated to step back responsibly in order to make way for those few on the frontline. We are fortunate to be allowed such exemption. Infringing this fundamental compromise could make us just another element of the cascading phenomenon that each one of us is trying so hard to escape. In this present, ‘defence is the best form of attack’ and seclusion is our new privilege.

But privilege is a game of prejudice. And prejudice, the discretion of the present. A circumstance where the fortunate seek to break free and the destitute crave a home. While we are exhausted by the monotony of a routine, there are others who are wrecked by starvation. The present is an eye-opener to this reality. It’s a warning that no trouble is so alien that it cannot reach us. For when it’s time, the present shall shed this prejudice. It’s, therefore, a cue to appreciating freedom, respecting life and being grateful for the privileges while we have them. It’s a lesson to be collectively empathetic and responsible to mankind. Today and forever.

The present is an awakening. It has strategically freed us from our phoney shackles of materialism, shallow objectives and pointless pursuits and trapped us in existential reality. As if we all have been pushed into a cavernous pit where there is no room for entitlements or estrangement of the minds. And for once, we are all bound together with a strong collective sentiment of hope and the commitment to survive this mutually as one race. For once, all in solidarity.

Written in 2020, amid the COVID-19 pandemic.

Saplings of the same yard

February 1, 2020 /

Do you think time is a valid testament to the essence of life? I feel time flies. Rather, the momentum of time grows on you and you endeavour changing with it. It’s like a gradual shift of focus on to picking up, along the way, pieces that would help construct yourself. But a glimpse of the past and you know you’ve disassembled in a way, leaving behind some of the most precious chunks of yourself that eventually trail back to where you started from. Your childhood – and memories are the sole proof of its authenticity.

So, here I am back in time, unravelling my childhood memories tangled somewhere in the course of years. Its impact is so massive that mere words do no justice to its beauty and wholeness. But, I persist… 

We are four siblings; two boys followed by two girls. I stand third. A safe spot to evade errands. A dicey spot that invites bullying. And like any other sibling story, mine too is a concoction of comical anecdotes and ingenuous theories.

So, I’ve spent a great deal of my childhood years, playing with my brothers. My sister was born only over five years after me. And even after she was, she was too little to be a part of our chaos. So, it’s safe to say that my brothers have had a huge impact on my childhood.

All our childhood, we had known just one leader. My eldest brother. Not only because he was the torchbearer, but also because running anything by him, as we grew up, just felt right. Of course, he made dead sure, he was in control. On the other hand, my second brother was my biggest challenge! A sense of competition always lingered, as we both aimed for the best piece of whatever came our way, be it at study or while at play.

But we three were the best of friends. We even matched clothes. Like pre-existing triplets. That also meant we three were already too many for us. We never felt the need for another external friend. Let me clarify though, ours wasn’t a demonstrative or effusive sibling relationship. We quarrelled all the time!

Our games were innocently tactical. My innocence, their tactics! Needless to say, at the role-playing games they hogged the creamier parts leaving me the low-key characters. I don’t think I even discovered this strategy, thanks to their smooth-talking! Oftentimes they would gang up against me. Perhaps, they sensed justifiable attributes – I was puny, grouchy and most decisively not-a-boy! So, out casting me from their ‘laddish’ and ‘adventurous’ activities wasn’t uncommon. But again, they were quick and smart enough to appease, lest they were reprimanded by my parents (which in hindsight, I believe they most definitely deserved). I’ve pulled through plenty orchestrated events that might take them a lifetime to forfeit for!

That doesn’t mean I felt misplaced. Most definitely not! They were the only world I knew. And I enjoyed their company! Ironically, I was a part of their beautiful world. We were more than just fights and squabbles. Very early on, we learnt the most important lesson of sharing everything and sticking around for each other. We were thick friends with our own plans and principles, rules and rationality. It’s funny yet astonishing how no adult – parents or guardian – knew how well-coordinated and secretive we were, even at our juvenile combats.

Nonetheless, we were gullible children. My second brother and I have, as the younger siblings, carried out so many inconsequential tasks as well as chores in anticipation of ‘points’ allotted by the eldest sibling for mundane drills like tidying the desk, setting the cushions at the perfect angle or even drawing the curtains just the right amount. He made sure the job was done, not letting out any whiff of the sibling-exploitation underlying this carefully-arranged game!

We were naive, even when we jousted for all that he handed out from his storage drawer — the trash that made way into ours instead of the bin. My second brother continued the trend when the older one had outgrown his appetite for the immature ideologies of the team.

But as their little sister, somewhere right at the very start, everything that came past them appeared treasure to me. It was my unchanging endeavour to be like them, for they were perfect to my eyes! If 2+2 was 5 to them, 5 it would mean to me. Sure enough as I grew, the bubble burst, making way for the realization that perfection might be a myth. But that was only years later.

I guess, once my sister was a pre-schooler, I was handed over the squad banner. It was a huge charge and I tried, to earnestly pass down our customary entertainment patterns to her. That doesn’t mean we weren’t creative. We girls innovated new means of amusement and even switched to more unpretentious hobbies that would accommodate our girlish sensibilities. With her, I took my maiden steps towards the perception of the tender sentiment of sisterhood.

As we grew, I also took it upon me to tutor her with the basics of her lessons. Let me put it this way; I was a protective elder sister but I’m afraid not the most easy-going one. I could be authoritative, as I thought was my right. Oh, my brothers did play a major role in fuelling the hidden dictator in me. Sigh! My conscience is spotted with guilt, as I’m aware of the fact that the unwary little kid looked up to me all through my supremacy. Like I said, being the third is not a very easy position to hold.

But time made it an absolute breeze! Now years later, as I reminisce my childhood, I find the same past incredibly perfect. The flawless cajolery of my brothers, the compliance of my little sister and our naivety as a pack cracks me up to this day! Re-living my childhood with them, would mean re-doing it all the exact same way! I can’t help but cling on to these memoirs, frisk through making pit-stops every now and then, letting myself soak in the sense of freedom, joy and contentment that they offer.

Coming this far along, I have to admit that I admire my siblings – the eldest now a soft-spoken but strong-minded and kind individual, the second a selfless and resourceful personality and my little sister, a graceful generous young woman. This day is testimony to all the beautiful moments we’ve spent as siblings, together and apart, yet unbroken — they are the finest siblings anyone could ask for!

These are words lost somewhere in the chaos and urgency of the routines. Words that remain unsaid, waiting for a perfect day like this, to be voiced. With deep gratitude I wish them all love, peace, happiness and triumph.

“We siblings are indeed saplings that were planted in the same yard. We shall remain forever rooted together.”

Life is NOT a piece of cake

January 23, 2020 /

This birthday when I latched my eyes onto the cheese cake, I knew what I had to do. Take the biggest bite possible – for it’s the flavour I savour. I’ve long lost my sweet tooth to puberty and am no longer a fan of saccharin. But when I held this cake in my hand, ready to indulge in its flavour, the irony of life’s dictum ‘Life is not a piece of cake!’ dawned on me . . . and played on a vicious loop in my head.

I’ve lived more than thirty years on this planet. Clearly, had an equal number of birthdays – each made special by friends and family. This birthday, however, was far from the usual. It highlighted my changed perspective on life and a reformed outlook to myself. So, it’s my 33rd; a perfect day for retrospection…

At 10, I wanted to more than just comply. I wanted to grow up . . .
When I was little, all I had to worry about were my grades. I had a loving family, plenty friends and a lot of spare time. Life was simple. Yet, the life of a grown-up intrigued me. It was the forbidden cookie that I couldn’t have, but hungered for, all the same. I imagined the perks of being an adult. And to my petty intellect all it meant was no rules and no conformation. I couldn’t wait to grow up.

At 15, I wanted to more than just grow up. I wanted to fit in . . .
In a leap of five years, I had come of age. I was done with high school, had excelled academically and had done well for myself on the extracurricular front. My conversations now orbited the perimeter of career, ambition and all such relevant grown-up stuff. But deep within me, under the layers of merit, aptitude and eloquence I was a confused mess. A teenager captive to her insecurities – futile anxieties that revolve around appearances, self-worth and expectation. Together they were an overwhelming force that constantly made me feel out of place. Conversely, I craved to fit in. I wanted that perfect life that I thought my peers had. I wished I were someone else.

At 20, I wanted to no more fit in. I wanted to be unique . . .
Figuratively, I had stepped out into the big bad world when I joined college. With no more parent or tutor at guard, I was fully accountable for my actions. The safest way out then, was to emulate my contemporaries. So, I went with the flow and became part of the herd. Though, within a couple of years of conforming to the pack temperament, the inclusiveness and familiarity which I once longed for, began to suffocate me. The ease and instinct with which I had fitted in further subdued me. Perhaps it meant I wasn’t special after all. I was flawed and ordinary just like everyone else. With an identity at the brink of oblivion, I craved to be unique.

At 25, I wanted to more than just be unique. I wanted to dream . . .
Redefining my individuality was no cakewalk. I had evolved but from a confused teenager to an anxious vicenarian. The course of events, however, changed drastically when I came to understand and consequently accept myself better. At a quarter century, my flaws didn’t seem so bad after all, although I’d be lying if I say I wasn’t a tad uncomfortable. But I owned my weaknesses nearly the same as I did my strengths. There’s a certain empowerment to self-awareness. It’s liberating in a way that I began to acknowledge personality traits that had long been suppressed, long misunderstood. This reconciliation, as good as a burden being lifted off my shoulder, primed and prepared me to dream.

At 30, I wanted to more than just dream. I want to succeed . . .
It was probably when I hit thirty – akin to a rock physically hitting me – it dawned upon me that my life was a product of what I make of it. Until then I had washed my hands off the task of addressing the circumstances that got in the way of my visions. I was convinced, it was life’s responsibility to fix itself up for me. I played safe while still hoping for a smooth sail. Days had cascaded into years but nothing had changed. My dreams were still crude imaginations that had not yet made it to the canvas. This cocoon of denial needed to be shattered and I was up for this challenge as I entered my fourth decade.

At 33, I want to more than just succeed. I want to thrive . . .
It took me thirty three years to get to where I am. I’ve left my comfort zone, taken risks I was afraid to take and have tread paths unfamiliar. I’ve also learnt that some choices are tough to make. Some aren’t even choices to begin with, but one has to choose anyway. Some familiarities are worth giving up, some decisions are worth making. They allow you take charge of your life and steer it in the direction you deem best. Eventually, being fair to yourself is as important as being just to another.

Life was never meant to be easy; we all agree to that. But life could be thrilling as well, if we attempt to look at it that way. I needed to give my attitude a huge makeover in order to embrace life as it is in its raw, imperfect form. I’ve learnt to remind myself that there’s a world out there that is simpler and more forgiving than the delusion we conveniently choose to live in. There’s a lot that’s amiss, a lot misplaced, a lot more misconstrued. Life is not a piece of cake! I’d rather steer my helm and choose to not just survive, but prosper and thrive instead. I wish to go out there and gather experiences that I imagined were out of my reach. Experiences that will help me grow as a human and become a better version of myself.

“I want no mind that is constantly rattled, no heart that is callous. I seek but a soul that is content.”

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