.... I will not let my brain come in the way.
Once, I lent my ears and attention to a civil services aspirant's life snippet. It involved the abandonment of an unfinished examination to take a friend and fellow examinee to medical attention that was suddenly needed. The protagonist later found that his qualification for the coveted spot was left wanting of the paper left behind. I have often, quite often, too often in-fact, tried to evaluate the heroics and the foolhardy of what had transpired. Also, I have wondered how the situation would play now, and with different actors.
Someone mentioned that her memory of me was that of a person always surrounded with people. "...in which life?" I asked.
While I grow older and collect more life lessons, I find that my person is in an awkward dance of sometimes an outward unfolding and of others where I crease and tuck away an aspect of myself that does not surface again if I can help it.
In another conversation from the past, I remember mentioning to someone (this is verbatim) "...my honesty is my way of respecting the person that you are..." to which she said (not verbatim) "... not everyone you meet will be ready or able to receive the gift of your sincerity...". I was too young to know fully what that meant.
A few months ago, I confessed to a friend of having forgotten an important piece of news shared with me. While cowering under the fierce lashes of her vitriol, I forgot to provide an appropriate explanation: that of being overwhelmed with new parent fatigue or of being unable to guess (as I interpret it) that her recent gregariousness was simply an escape.
If you know me well (or know me at all) perhaps you are aware that for me a raised voice is death-by-asphyxiation of a relationship. And that I go to great lengths to protect myself from the possibility of such accidents. So, after about a decade of clean, verbal-conflict-free living, I was trapped and crucified again. The experience was as disorienting as the last one.
In my desperation to recover, I comb through my list of acquaintances, some of whom were perhaps friend once, to find another friend, spreading little electronic notes like spores. It is quite comical - the disconnect between my eagerness and the polite sleepy replies, if at all.
It must be the unnavigable grief of losing a friend that brought me here. I will get better (let me get back to being busy with motherhood.)
Once, I lent my ears and attention to a civil services aspirant's life snippet. It involved the abandonment of an unfinished examination to take a friend and fellow examinee to medical attention that was suddenly needed. The protagonist later found that his qualification for the coveted spot was left wanting of the paper left behind. I have often, quite often, too often in-fact, tried to evaluate the heroics and the foolhardy of what had transpired. Also, I have wondered how the situation would play now, and with different actors.
Someone mentioned that her memory of me was that of a person always surrounded with people. "...in which life?" I asked.
While I grow older and collect more life lessons, I find that my person is in an awkward dance of sometimes an outward unfolding and of others where I crease and tuck away an aspect of myself that does not surface again if I can help it.
In another conversation from the past, I remember mentioning to someone (this is verbatim) "...my honesty is my way of respecting the person that you are..." to which she said (not verbatim) "... not everyone you meet will be ready or able to receive the gift of your sincerity...". I was too young to know fully what that meant.
A few months ago, I confessed to a friend of having forgotten an important piece of news shared with me. While cowering under the fierce lashes of her vitriol, I forgot to provide an appropriate explanation: that of being overwhelmed with new parent fatigue or of being unable to guess (as I interpret it) that her recent gregariousness was simply an escape.
If you know me well (or know me at all) perhaps you are aware that for me a raised voice is death-by-asphyxiation of a relationship. And that I go to great lengths to protect myself from the possibility of such accidents. So, after about a decade of clean, verbal-conflict-free living, I was trapped and crucified again. The experience was as disorienting as the last one.
In my desperation to recover, I comb through my list of acquaintances, some of whom were perhaps friend once, to find another friend, spreading little electronic notes like spores. It is quite comical - the disconnect between my eagerness and the polite sleepy replies, if at all.
It must be the unnavigable grief of losing a friend that brought me here. I will get better (let me get back to being busy with motherhood.)
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