The first time I wrote digitally, a decade ago, my heart felt a little less heavy, dishing out what I felt about a boy I should’ve never looked at. Some people are just jerks to you. I could share without having to be diplomatic. Though, to be fair, I was, holding back, behind poor man’s metaphors. Through time, even without using names (of others) but talking about feelings in general, I offended some people, destroyed others. By and by I became wary of it. I grew up to become more aware of what I was saying. Old posts embarrassed me. I moved towards writing about things that interested me. Less me.
And then I took this break. A chain smoker gives up looking at the cigarette break. I’d make fun of anonymity in younger days. What could it mean? Lack of courage to own up your Meinung? Then, I embraced it. (Warning: I’m learning Deutsch)
A friend of mine, let’s say we christen him A (for apple, aggressive, anonymous…) was tough talking to me a couple days back. I was thinking about exotic words to win that Scrabble game. He was continuing. He said how his girl-friend could eat me up, effectively because, I showed up as this naive, nice person, without a backbone. (Like the anonymous, I felt). I justified. And then buried it all in a very big Panda Chinese meal laced with Apple and Honey towards the end. (notice how my nouns are beginning to get Capitalised now, I’m going to be this Deutsch writer soon).
It didn’t go away. My father often irritates me by asking some really obtuse (to me) questions at times. And I promptly shift conversation to mother. Once on such an incident, I just didn’t react. Normally, in recent Angry girl days I was known to break doors and violently shout, curse at home. And my parents are used to such over expression. I’m not necessarily proud of it, but I felt expressing it outwards made me feel better. And without feeling good, I couldn’t have made anyone else happy. Mother marked the lack of reaction hence. I said, without much feeling, that I didn’t want to use my energy to fight. Mother felt she had won. And happily said, I had finally become a “good” girl.
Standing outside operation theatres two years in a row and not knowing what is happening inside, letting it all go because you can’t control anything, alters a few aspects. I became superstitious to sit. So I walked for five hours between the two stairs the news would potentially come from, thinking that would be better for father. The cells couldn’t have crossed the border. The doctor would be efficient. It would be fine. And then nothing. I remember the emptiness that came out of tired thoughts. I didn’t want to think any longer. I wanted to chant Shiva’s mantra to enable me to stop thinking. I didn’t want to concentrate on fights or others. I didn’t want to expend energy. I needed it all inside, to walk between the stairs.
I wanted to tell A, there’s a saying in our parts, some people are so smart that they can sell someone else for peanuts. I could do that to his girl-friend. Like at work. When I am aggressively efficient. But I knew I wouldn’t. Either say or do anything. Because in my head nice takes strength. I just don’t care about some fights, most people, unless I’m deeply interested. That doesn’t make me a recluse. Just someone who needs depth in interest. I just don’t have the extra energy to waste. Sometimes I look at a person and think “I don’t want to invest”. It happens often.
I don’t care if there’s lack of courage in anonymity. I value the honesty that comes along more. I’ve not stopped fighting, but I choose now. I’m too bored to be diplomatic and think of metaphors. Yet, I choose to and Don’t Share Everything. I come here to express and open up and let go. To create newness like the The First Six Months. Weil, I can’t control the rest of my life. I’d like to make chunks of six months, special.