Have you been bitten by a snake? I have been bitten by a snake. Not in real life, but in my dreams some ten days ago. I have been bitten by a dog in my dream, a dog that doesn’t let go off my palm, while I squirm in my pain. I constantly dream of death, it’s like a weekly feature in my dreams; somebody has to die. I am constantly running in my dreams. I appear for exams unprepared in my dreams and I fail the exams that I seemed prepared for in my dreams. I have always wanted to stop dreaming. Why? Because they visualize some of my deepest fears. When I look up for their meaning (yes, I Google everything), it reads that my dreams symbolize anxiety. That’s another thing, I have always wanted to stop being anxious. But wanting is never good enough. You need a plan. And my anxiety mitigation plans almost always fail.
I was 14 when my cousin got married. It was the dream marriage, not in terms of opulence but in terms of affection. She married the guy she fell in love with; even if it took years to materialize, they stood by each other. I always wanted love like that. I wanted to model my love life on hers. But as it turns out, some wants you outgrow. I have another cousin who got married last year. When we talk about her life, I realize that love often is nothing but a sense of comfort, a sense of ease that you find in the company of a person. Even though we have that dream couple in our families or our friends or in our figments of imagination. But our love does not have to be necessarily that love. Because we might find our own brand of affection. We might find love in ways that were once alien to us. We might find love in immensity that seemed unbelievable at one time. Maybe love is nothing but discovering a safe haven in another person. Maybe our love is meant to be its own brand of enlightenment.
For 15 days in my life, I was going to be a doctor. And then I switched paths. Because I thought that I was better suited in a non science career. I thought I’d make a good journalist. I wanted to be a journalist. Or maybe a storyteller of some sort. I wanted to tell stories for a living. Then, I got knocked off in a completely different direction. Because I liked the subject of accounting. It’s easy to fall prey to the illusion of liking something that you’re good at. I fell prey to it and here I am, writing 150th time about career and identity crisis.
There was an interview that I should have appeared for. It was for the profile of an assistant director in a production house. I wanted to take a chance at it. I enjoyed television. I enjoyed imagining spin off stories for the shows I watched. I enjoyed thinking ahead of the last episode. I was obsessed with television. But I never went for that interview. Because I thought about how my decision would affect the people in my life. But I never thought how passing on that opportunity would affect me for the rest of my life. I want to undo that decision; I want to undo that day; I want to be rid of this regret; I want to at least try.
I think it was five years ago, when someone had caught me off guard with their impolite words. I was sitting in their room and they insulted me. It was a pre meditated attack. I walked out without uttering a single word. Why? Because I hate confrontations. I hate being unkind. Between then and now, I have witnessed people being disrespectful to me. I still don’t say a word. Why? Because I took all those moral sciences lessons to heart. So I don’t hurt people. I let them hurt me. How do you erase all these values? How do you stoop so low with your words and actions? I want to learn that. But I don’t know where should I begin from.