Being Izzie

I will talk about Izzie today. Because I have always wanted to talk about Grey’s Anatomy with you. About how Denny dies on Izzie, about how Preston abandons Christina on the day of their wedding, about how Christina allows Preston’s love to modify her identity little by little, about how every character other than Meredith Grey on Grey’s Anantomy had more substance for me. But today we will talk about how in the sixth season Denny’s ghost materializes in front of Izzie. Izzie is the sort of person who believes in symbols. Denny was her true love, so she is instantly torn between a crossroad of discovering the impending doom that Denny’s reappearance is symbolic of or choosing to be oblivious to reality and hold on to her true love. She chooses the latter and decides to be in denial.

Why am I telling you about this? Because I am Izzie, I will always choose oblivion over reality, I always end up being in denial. Howsoever pragmatic and well founded my decisions may be on some days, I have the ability to stand at a crossroad and choose the easier alternative. In fact, I might prolong taking the decision because I am so intimidated to wake up to a reality where things have not worked in my favor. I am standing at one such juncture in my life. I have to begin studying again. I haven’t picked a textbook with serious conviction in the last eighteen months. Everyday it consumes the life out of me to consider studying again. I don’t know where should I begin from, I don’t know if I should make a schedule or stick to my instincts like I always do. I am scared that the day I open the textbook I will not understand a thing. Words will commit a treachery on me, they will sound like mighty concepts that will rebound over my brain just like the alpha particles did when Rutherford conducted the gold foil experiment to arrive at the composition of an atom.

If you know me otherwise, outside the blogosphere, you might laugh on reading this. Because in reality, you look at me and you look at marks, you look at my college and you look at a sound academic background. So to you, my concerns might come across as irrational. But you have to stand where I stand and see how daunting my ordeal is. Academics is my forte, being Hermoine is my second skin. Naturally I don’t want to imagine a world where my identity stands compromised. If I am not the intelligent student, I don’t know what I am. I have real tangible doubts. There was a time when I studied and enjoyed studying. But the question is whether it was a genuine affection or was it my mind falling prey to the illusion of being emotionally invested in a field because I excelled in that. At times, I think that I have an unspoken obligation to prove my abilities and to constantly outperform myself. This is what you call baggage, baggage that comes with being proficient at something.

Twenty two is not the age when I want to be caught between an intricate web of doubts. Twenty two is not the age when I want to be confronted at the risk of losing my identity. Twenty two is not the time when I want to be paralyzed with fears and not commit myself to building a career. Twenty two is not when I want to be Izzie and be suffering from cancer. Because she might have had a Derek Shepherd to turn tables on fate but I most certainly don’t.


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