Tag Archives: motivational

Commitment

I have a phobia of elevators and of tight spaces. I’m also scared of animals and sometimes of thunder… and of being alone and the list goes on. But the one thing that makes me cage my heart behind thick metal bars is commitment. I’m even terrified of the word, like saying it out loud will bound me to some sort of spell. The word is like a curse, it’s tabooed.

I don’t want to break so I won’t join the pieces of me that are already broken. You can’t break something that’s not fixed. I’ll ignore things or avoid them, hoping they’ll get better on their own (they usually get worse). And I find myself drowning in the same ocean I was so desperately trying to escape.

In this whole process the broken pieces I’m trying to avoid, tend to prick me like thorns. I try to cover up my wounds with smiles as fake as unicorns. I will clench my teeth until they tear, but I won’t tell anyone what’s bothering me. I could be dying, but I won’t say a word. I’m wired all wrong, and I don’t know how to untangle myself.

I’m not scared of the action of commitment, more of the outcome. I guess I’m so scared of making the wrong choices that I’ve decided to not make a choice at all. I don’t want to get hurt, so I refuse to love. If I don’t love I won’t break. And if I don’t break, I’ll be strong. Easy Logic.

But no matter how hard I try, sometimes my feelings leak through me like a small crack in a dam, and I can’t hold it in anymore, and I explode and ache in all the wrong places.

To escape this cycle. I blame other people- my parents, siblings, friends, God, destiny, fate, my ancestors for not fighting off the British any sooner. Doesn’t make sense I know, but it makes sense in my mind.

The worst thing about all this is that in this whole process I tend to hurt those around me too. I break others in an attempt to heal. But in the end, all that’s left are just bruises that leave scars so deep no smiles can cover them up.

In my plea to avoid commitment I tend to avoid all the perks that come with it. Including the satisfaction of at least trying or the fruitful outcome or other open doors.

But I’m learning not to limit myself. I’m learning to let go. Learning to sew myself and create a quilt of soft memories. I’m learning to lean on commitment. To understand that bad things happen not because I’m bad, but because this is life and I am a human and humans tend to break, just as they tend to reform.

It’s hard though.

You’ll have to scratch yourself raw.

Crack yourself open, and you will cry.

You will bleed.

Ache.

But that’s how you’ll heal.

Patch up those holes, stitch your wounds, and mend your soul. You might do it wrong. You might miss a few steps. You might hurt yourself even more. But that’s how you learn. That’s how you grow. That’s how you rise.

So darling, stop over thinking.  Stop giving into “ifs” and “maybes”. Stop ruining your happiness because you’ve let your fears grow inside of you. Stop comparing yourself to other people: you have a light in you that people ache to touch. Stop listening to other voices because that voice in you has a melody no one can achieve.

Breathe. And live.

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Failing Physics

It just seems like one of those awfully, odd days where you want to go and hide under a rock. But the only problem is that you can’t find a rock big enough to hide you. You feel exposed like everyone is seeing into your soul.

Interacting with anyone of any species seems like a burden. You feel like you’re in a zoo, and everyone else is human and you’re the only animal. No matter how hard you try you can’t disguise yourself. You’re scared that they’ll find out that you’re the only normal one.

I’m standing in front of the chemistry department in the huge line. The Asian girl with glasses in the front asks me how I did on the physics exam. I blankly stare at her.

Do I even know you? The thought passes my mind. She flashes me a smile, and I unconsciously do the same.

“Amazing” I lie to her. Twenty-four out of a hundred. I think my professor pitied me, so he gave me a whopping 20 points. Maybe he was too ashamed to give me a four. The exam wasn’t hard. I just blanked out. The sentences on the paper weren’t making sense to me. It was like all the letters were jumbled together and they were dancing on the paper. I tried to focus, but my eyes refused to reconcile with my brain. My hands were shaking, and I was trying so hard to concentrate, but the anxiety bubbling inside of me was spilling through my limbs. The walls were starting to close in on me, and I needed to leave the room and that’s exactly what I did. I wrote whatever popped into my mind on that exam paper and ran out of the class as fast as I could.

She looks at me in awe and smiles. “How do you study”? Her voice is cracking. I have the strong urge where I want to hug her and cry into her arms.

We’re both on the same boat girl.

“I got above average.” she sighs. Above average, you’re kidding me right. My sympathy for her vanishes, and I have that strong urge where I want to hang her. I could easily blame it on gravity-It pulled her down. She asks me more questions, and I answer them like a school child being scolded by a strict teacher. When she turns around I slip away from the huge line and run for the library. The b-2 floor. It’s stranded and empty. It’s the perfect place to plan a murder, or even to carry out one.

I slip in between the shelves, in the back and make myself as small as possible.

There’s still the final. The thought is comforting, but it doesn’t linger long enough. I find myself thinking about dropping out.

But it’s not the end of the world.

Well, maybe it is.

But you studied so hard and you knew all the answers then why didn’t you answer them?

Because you’re an idiot.

The thoughts are starting to haunt me, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to jam them back in my mind. I’m scared the pulsing headache will come back with shit loads of anxiety. I’m scared I’ll have a panic attack and go into my leave-me-alone mode.

So, I whip out my notebook with the doodles on the cover, and I write whatever comes to my mind. Poems, short stories, and every thought that is hovering in my head.

I’m late for my biochem class, but it doesn’t matter.

You’ll fail biochem too. The thought pops into my mind, but I force it back inside, where all my other pessimistic thoughts are gathered. Sometimes these thoughts find a small passage and they flow through, but I have to fight them, to keep them locked up inside. Most of my energy is wasted here- in these battles I’m fighting in my head. How possibly can I focus on anything else when my mind is a battlefield, and I’m fighting the girl looking back at me through the mirror.

But there’s hope. There is always hope. There has to be. Sometimes my hope vanishes beneath these taunting thoughts, but it always finds a way to the surface. It always rises, and I rise with it.

I can do this. How? I don’t know. But I can, and I will. The greatest victories start with will. Don’t they?

Photo by Skitterphoto from Pexels

The kiss of failure!

Isn’t it weird how sometimes you work so hard on something, just to be kissed by failure at the end? And it’s not the soft, subtle kiss you find in those happy ever afters. It’s one of those kisses that makes your heart sink somewhere near your kidneys. The one that makes you doubt your very existence. It’s the kind of kiss that haunts you for the rest of your life.

The kiss of failure never comes alone. It comes with self-hatred, doubt, desperation, and despair. It slowly creeps on you from the back and jumps on you when you least expect it. But you fall so hard that the earth stops rotating on its axis and I’m sure the sound is so loud that the angels up in heaven can hear it too. I’m sure they’ve gotten used to it by now.

Failure isn’t the only thing that bothers me. The after effects are just as worse; like an earthquake. When it comes it rips and tears everything apart and the after-shocks are just as worse. They break what’s already broken.

It’s like your mind becomes your greatest enemy and the world transforms into a very dark place. The beautiful masks people wear come dripping off and you get to see their real faces and they’re not pretty. You understand your fall but along with that, you understand what value people around you have. You understand that the mountain you were climbing had faults of its own. I’m not saying that failure is a bad thing, but it isn’t something that gives you comfort. If there’s one thing I’ve learned that is- the mountains you want to climb won’t get smaller. The paths you want to voyage won’t get prettier. The journeys you want to travel won’t get easier. And the fall definitely won’t hurt less. But the real question is how badly do you want it? How badly are you willing to fail? To fall? To crash? To burn? And then to reform? If your will to reach the peak empowers all other wills, then even failure will bow down to you.

It’s hard, very hard to swim in an ocean that’s pulling you down, and yet here you are, trying to climb a mountain you can’t even see. But if you give in, the waves will drown you. If you fight, then maybe, just maybe the waves will give up and they’ll push you to the shore.

There was once a man in Halacin who wanted to become an artist, but his parents forced him to become a doctor because according to them an artist had no value. “Artists don’t get paid much. How will you live? How will you ever be happy?” the parents argued. The man wanted to please his parents, so he left his passion and went to med school. There he studied hard, but no matter how much effort he put into his work, he would always fail. His joy vanished, and his heart did not align with his head. Every second that passed by pulled him toward art, but the man did not give in.

Because the man was doing so poorly in med-school, he was kicked out. Having no other option, the man burned his books and set sail to begin his journey as an artist. His parents disowned him and because of that the man had to take odd jobs to support himself. He worked as a mechanic, a dishwasher, a servant, but he did not complain. He was happy because for the first time he was listening to that voice in the back of his head.

The man wandered for years, but he couldn’t find a destination. Every journey he would travel would lead him to more turns. The man, tired of being on the road for so long, and aimlessly walking around, became tired and decided to give up and go back to his parents.

His parents were willing to accept him on one condition; that he follow the journey they had chosen for him. The man did as he was told, but he was unhappy, and he failed miserably. He did not understand what life had in store for him, but he knew one thing that failing while dreaming didn’t hurt as bad as failing without any dreams. The man, even with failure constantly kissing him, understood one thing, that failure was inevitable and so was suffering. No matter what journey he chose he was bound to fail, but he could choose what type of failure he was willing to endure. And in that instance when he did not know which journey to choose, he understood that he was willing to fail again and again, on a journey that made him happy. He was willing to suffer on a journey without a destination because it made him value himself. It taught him that failure is just as important as success.

He told his parents that he was willing to suffer, but of his own accord. His parents, furious with him, kicked him out again. The journey his parents had seen for him was easy, but it didn’t make him happy. Yes, he had a clean bed and warm food, but he lacked the ambition to move forward. He lacked the desire to do something.

The man left his parents and aimlessly voyaged again. He faced many setbacks and there were times when he wanted to give up, but he always remembered the reason why he held on for so long. When the man finally climbed the mountain of despair and hopelessness, he saw victory, wearing a blue cape, waiting for him on the peak of the mountain.

“Took you long enough,” victory scowled. The man was baffled. He was mad, angry, and annoyed. He was furious at victory. He couldn’t hold in his tears anymore, so he wailed like a small child.

“Why?” The man cried. “I spent years searching for you. Did you not pity me at all?”

Victory smiled at the man and said, “Every time you took a step toward me, I took two steps toward you and every time you stopped, I stopped with you. Every time you doubted me I doubted you. We’re linked. Don’t you understand that you’ve made it here on the back of failure? It was your perseverance that bought me here, to you.”

I’m not saying that your path will be easy. It won’t. But comparing your journey to someone else’s won’t make things better. Failure is a part of life. Maybe instead of fighting it, we should learn to embrace it. Kiss it back with such passion that victory gets jealous. Learn, and move on. But remember, every fall of yours is bringing victory closer to you.

The beauty of suffering!

Why is it that sometimes our path is crystal clear, but our eyes become clouded? Why do we become so hollow when everything around us is supposed to fill us up? That’s how I feel right now, like a huge chunk of me is missing, or maybe I ripped it out. Maybe because I was afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of aching, so I took away that part of myself that was capable of feeling pain. But that’s where I was wrong. Pain doesn’t always have to destroy, sometimes, against all odds, it has the ability to save.

Imagine getting stabbed in the back. It hurts I know, but what if it didn’t hurt? What if you didn’t feel pain? Then you would never know how severely you’re injured. If you don’t know you’re wounded how will you sew your wounds? How can you be cured? Pain, as harsh as it sounds, is your body’s way of telling you something isn’t right and that something needs to change.

Through pain and suffering, we understand the beauty of love. The beauty of healing. Because when you’re in pain you have two choices. Either you give in to that feeling or you fight it. Giving in is easy, but fighting is hard because you don’t know what the outcome will be. You might come out injured even more than before and I guess that’s what life is. To keep fighting. To keep falling and to keep rising.

Sometimes the scars aren’t visible. The burns are etched deep inside, but they still hurt. If there is one thing I’ve learned in life that is to never be afraid of pain. Because it is through pain we understand life’s greatest lessons. I’m not saying that I’m unafraid. And to be honest, I will never be ready to fight, but backing down doesn’t really seem like an option.

The very early King of Halacin had been through so much suffering in his life that he vowed to keep his unborn son away from pain. He did the best he could. He built walls and barriers around his palace to conceal his son from the outside world, but that didn’t help. Pain would always find a way to sneak through.

The King became desperate. Not knowing what to do, he left his Kingdom in search of the witch who had extraordinary powers. He found her, convinced her and promised her gold if she would take all the pain away from his unborn son’s life. The witch agreed, “but my lord,” she warned. “Your heir’s pain shall be transferred to you.” The King did not care. His unborn son was all that mattered to him.

When the King came back to his Kingdom, he was told that his wife had passed away while giving birth to a healthy baby boy. The King as happy as he was, mourned for his dead wife. She was the only living being that loved him for who he was. She was the one who showed him light when he was wrapped in darkness.

Days passed by and months changed into years. The King’s son was now an adult, who was cruel, unjust and unkind. He did not care about anyone in the Kingdom but himself. The King saw his son as a threat to the people, so with remorse and regret, he ordered his son to be hanged. The King, knowing his son would die, was in excruciating pain. He lost everyone close to him. Having no other option, the King went to his son and asked him why he was like this.

“I’ve never felt pain, father,” the son said smiling. “I don’t know what suffering is and I’ve never suffered to know how it feels. If I’ve never been hurt, how can I feel someone else’s ache.”

The King realized that he was the cause for his son’s behavior. Had he not asked the witch, his son wouldn’t have been like this.  Pain, he understood was what made living creatures, humans. Without pain, there would be no empathy no companionship. It was through pain, people understood the beauty of love. The beauty of giving. Pain was not a form of suffering, it was a blessing.

Before the King could hang his son, his son escaped and led an army full of people out into the Kingdom. Where they burned down people’s houses and killed whoever came in their way. The King becoming restless left the Kingdom and went in search of the witch. When he found her, he begged her and asked her for mercy. “Give my son a reason to suffer. Give him a reason to feel pain. Make him human again,” he cried. “Watching him like this is giving me pain.”

The witch assured the King and promised him that everything would be okay. “You will be in peace.” The witch promised. “And your pain will fall on your son’s shoulders and he will suffer.”

The King was not at ease. He was watching his Kingdom burn down in flames. Greif took over him and he fell ill. When his son heard of his father’s fate, he felt something crack inside of him. For the first time, he felt a pang of guilt. He felt pain.

The son stopped what he was doing and led his army back into the palace. The slicing ache in his chest was increasing. The man who had raised him, protected him was lying in the lap of death. The son ran to the King’s bed, but before he could apologize for his crimes, the King died and was in peace, but the son was in pain and was suffering. His father’s death gave him a reason to feel. It gave him guilt and sorrow.

Pain doesn’t come with a smile. It comes with sharp claws, but in those claws, there is mercy. In that wound, there is a cure. Maybe not all wounds make sense, not all injuries are capable of healing. But there is salvation. There is always salvation.