Facing Fear

My head aches a lot while I’m at university, I’ve realised. Maybe it’s a combination of bad food habits, sleep schedule mess-ups, academic stress and a thousand other things I let bother me and ruin my mental health and physical health. IN fact, even today, I was assaulted with a kind of banging pain and I could not fall asleep either because it felt like my head was dislocating and I could not do anything about it at all. That is not a very nice state of being, but then that’s exactly how it was. So when I collapsed into a weird position on the bed, sideways, hair blocking the light because it hurt my eyes, I was just hit with this uncomfortable feeling of my head being disjointed from my body.

I performed at the open mic today and I was so scared of it, so much so that I started panicking and I cried. When my friend called me to check on me, I had been crying and I felt so embarrassed to pick up the call but I had to because I knew she was checking on me to ask when I would come for the open mic (which I had signed up for in the first place). Long story short, I did not want to show my moment of weakness to the whole world. Well, I ended up showing quite a lot of weakness when I freaked out quite a lot and I also don’t think it was that good a performance, but I think that’s alright. They don’t know me, the people in the audience and the people who do matter know me well enough to know that I can probably sing better. And even if they don’t I don’t think I should really let that colour my considerations. That said, I was glad I sang nonetheless, even though I felt it was quite a bit of a waste of time. It is done and dealt with, I am facing my fears as bravely as I can and that matters enough, right?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Maniacal, Scared Traveller

The thing about travelling is that I am a very bad traveller in general. I am constantly under the impression that I would have forgotten something, misplaced something, done something wrong, something or the other. Packing ruins me, I am constantly anxious about it, constantly anxious if I have forgotten something on the way. I am checking my pockets (or whatever pockets women’s pants generally have, which are sad excuses for pockets) if I have everything I brought, or if my phone is properly inside and not just hanging outside for anyone passing by to just pluck out. It is a nightmare for myself and this generally keeps me off travelling unless I am going by a mode of transport like our own car (I would love for a time to come when I can say “my own car”), where even if `i forget something, chances would be that it would be inside the car and I can easily retrieve it.

This all started especially after one extremely saddening event when I was pretty young, around 4 or 5 years old. I have always generally been very protective and careful with my belongings, I get attached to these things very easily and I find it very difficult to part with my belongings. Ths meant that all my toys, every single item I had (including my clothes, caps, rubber bands, etc) were kept in as neat a condition as four-year-old me could manage. This strong attachment also made me find it very difficult to cope with the loss of any of my possessions. If it was stolen, it would be painful. But what would be more painful was losing a possession out of my own carelessness or forgetfulness. That would make me beat myself up over for days, I would sometimes dream about it also. This happened when I lost my earphones back in March, this year.

But yes, back to this story. We had been travelling by train, during the night, in the AC 3 tier coach. The AC 3 tier coach is a wonderfully comfortable coach to travel during a nighttime journey. You get warmed pillows, sheets and a heavy comforter, the berths are wider and you have these nice pockets to the side of the berth where you can keep your stuff in. Those pockets, those were the cause for my distress that time. The AC 3 tier coach was always in quite a precarious position, the AC would sometimes be too cold and sometimes it would be non-existent. This was after all not a very major inconvenience for me because I was quite comfortable in my carefully laid out sheets and the temperature was maintained quite nicely.

That day I had on a beautiful white and red cap, a sweater cap that came as a pair with a sweater I wore. That night I removed my cap and carefully stowed it away on that pocket by the side of my berth. I had gotten a top side berth, which generally has wider berths than usual and moreover, it was fun to climb up on it. And one could sit on it comfortably without their head banging against the roof or the bottom of the berth on top. It was all in all quite a wonderful experience and as per usual, my father meticulously laid out the sheets, the comforter, the pillow and when I got settled in, made sure I was nicely covered and my cap was nicely in place. Because it was an AC coach, there was no fear of thieves and the AC was also working quite wonderfully that night.

All was fine, morning came, I woke up, finished my morning ablutions, the train arrived at our station and we all got down and made our merry way home. When we reached home and started unpacking our bags, to get laundry done and to put away all the food we had brought, my mother asked me about the cap. I felt like someone dropped a huge sack on top of me, the realisation that I had missed my cap on the train hit me hard. I could not get off that feeling, my beautiful cap, the one I had so carefully stowed away in that pocket, I had merrily forgotten it. I was guilt-ridden for a few days, I even would dream of finding that cap on a side bag, or that my mother would just look at me, smile and tell me that she had found it and had fooled me. But no, the cap was well and truly lost as well as my casual attitude about travelling. I have always been quite maniacal about travelling ever since. Now, since we are travelling once again tomorrow, I am much more worried. Hopefully, the trip will be a good one, right?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Anxieties and Heat

It is quite funny that I almost forgot that I had to write in my blog today. Sometimes it feels like I have made this blog up in my head and that I actually have not written every day. I open my blog when I feel like that, almost like I am trying to reassure and convince myself that I actually have written in this blog all these days. I think the fear also stems from the fact that I will be going to this camp for the whole of next week, which could mean that I would have to type my posts on my phone, on data, after exhausting days. I am terrified about the prospect of not being able to post here every day. I am anxious about it, more than I care to admit.

I had to pack for the camp, but I have not even properly started yet. My mother is going to have a fit when she finds out, but I think I can handle it and manage to pack everything tomorrow. The problem is, I need to convince my mother of that. All this packing reminds me of last year, when I had to pack and move into my college. It had been a terrifying experience, as well as an exciting one. I was alone, my mother wasn’t there in India when I was leaving for college, so most of my packing was done with help from my grandparents and by myself. My father had been as useful as the label my grandfather stuck on my suitcase, to identify it. But I still had managed to transport myself to college and set up my room, all by myself, my brother and father simply coming to help me carry the suitcases and for the baggage allowance they got.

I remember my feelings on the day of moving in with astonishing clarity, so much so that I wonder if I am making up some of my memories of the day. I won’t be surprised, especially after I learnt about the concept of memories not being completely trustworthy. It is a very fascinating thing because it destroys one of the key aspects of this blog itself, the idea of memories recollected and stories told. But if there’s anything my one year at college has taught me, it is to be at peace with conflict, to accept it, allow it to mould and change your life as you please, to simply live with it. It is quite a wonderful thing, once you stop attaching so much value to your beliefs, you start to be more at peace with potential ideas and thoughts that could topple them. But then, even that is a belief of mine, and if something topples that, if I am peace with that, did it even get toppled in the first place. Is this getting too meta?

I was editing and rewriting my story today, I have removed a huge part of the story as a whole and added a completely new part to it. It stands at a proud 3150 words–the word limit was 3000, but surely 150 words is not that big a transgression. The day had been unbearably hot, my whole body felt claustrophobic inside the house, but there was nothing I could do. It was only in the evening when some slight respite came in the form of rain. But even then, the heat has gone down only a little bit, the humidity is making my whole scalp itchy and I feel like sitting in a bucket of ice. But that is a drastic step best reserved for some time in the far future (read, never). But nonetheless, the heat reminds me of home, even though we are better prepared for the heat back there than we are here. The temperature predictions for the next two days is cooler, hopefully the weather shall follow the rules. It will, right?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Reclaiming (Seemingly) Lost Loves and Hopes

I was helping my brother with his math homework today, helping him make sense of the world of straight lines and closed figures. Towards the end of my schooling, math had gradually risen up the ranks to become my most dreaded subject. I was absolutely terrified of it, a far cry from the Yashasvi in the beginning who used to love the absolute logic and intuitive nature of the subject. When I was in tenth standard, I was one of those nerdy kids in class who used to come up with new ways to solve the same question. I always came up with ‘brilliant logic’ (or so my math teacher used to say), did well on my exams, and I loved the subject too. I found that it was one of the most brilliant things to be invented by humans, the irrefutable logic of it drew me in.

Those had been the times when I had been wondering what I should do in class 11th and 12th. For me, I found that I was a highly logical individual, one who could not do the ‘airy things’ that literature or other ‘arts’ subjects would demand of me. I did not want to do engineering either, and while I did enjoy and do well in English, history, pol. sci, etc, I was convinced that they were not for me. I wanted to continue with something that would allow me my math (and also let me have my favourite English teacher). It made absolute sense for me to choose computer science during class 11 and 12–I hated biology, which was the other option, and I also got my favourite English teacher.

But it was during these two years that I grew a terrible fear for the subject which had once been one of my favourites. I started fearing math, sometimes hating it with a fiery passion. Calculus made zero sense to me, I could reasonably handle limits and differentiation, but integration became the bane of my existence. I was terrible at it and my teacher knew it too. I somehow could not come up with ways to solve the integration questions as my friends could. My best friend, in particular, was absolutely brilliant at it. No wonder that she went on to do math in college, she was excellent. But my fear of integration, the crippling anxiety I faced whenever I was given a question to solve, only added to my troubles. I started faring badly in the exams, something that further pushed me down.

I could not find logic behind many things, maybe my teacher could not make me see it, maybe I was just dumb for it. But I was finding it all arbitrary and pointless. I found a little bit of solace in chapters like probability, and permutations and combinations, but even those became overtaken by formulae and theorems, ruining my intuitive understanding and logic. I started to lose my enthusiasm to solve a math question. Even when provided with a question I could have easily solved, I would feel doubt overtake me, making me incapable of solving it. I was starting to no longer see the picture, but rather the symbols. I was terrified of the words, of the theta and the sines and cos’s and the logs. I felt dumb, stupid, useless, and whenever my teacher used to ask, “you don’t get this?” (she meant it to help me, but it hurt nonetheless), I felt like crawling into a hole and never coming out ever again.

When my best friend nodded understandingly at whatever was being said, I could not help but wonder where I went wrong. Comparison became a problem, but thankfully I realised the darkness that I was turning to. I started to actively try to break out of it, I went to my teacher a lot with questions. I swallowed my pride and sat for the tutorial classes my teacher held to help the ‘weak’ students. I called my best friend and solved problems with her for hours on end. I was still very afraid of math, but I was trying to function despite it all. And my efforts finally worked, I managed to score very well in the board exams, and I was pretty pleased with myself. But I bid sweet adieu to math after that in college, preferring to put behind the hurt and move on.

Today, when my brother asked me some questions, I was reminded of what had enticed me about math in the first place. The wonderful logic of geometry, the beauty of lines and angles, algebra. For a brief second, I worried if I would be able to remember properties, to solve his questions. But to my pleasant surprise, I was able to do it with perfect ease. Moreover, I was able to teach him too, successfully, gaining his respect and the satisfaction of a lesson well taught. It made me happy, that I possibly still had some of that math in me. I want to take a math course next semester, it is part of the compulsory courses I need to take, and I would like to get it done with, in a sense. Also because a wonderful professor would be taking the course, and I would love a chance to take the course with her. I hope it happens, I hope the next semester will be a better one. I hope my summer semester, which starts thus Monday will also turn out fine. There are a thousand things I hope and like. I only wish that like how, today, I was able to reclaim a small part of my love for math, I would be able to reclaim at least a small part of other things. It shall happen, won’t it?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Exams, Vomiting and Validation

I thought that exams will become a thing of the past. And even if they weren’t, I expected exams to be different from what I wrote today (or yesterday, but I have lost track of time and I am extremely sleep-deprived). But I wrote the exam anyway, feeling utterly despondent as the exam progressed, a feeling that has recently been trying to settle in my soul. But I will admit that there does seem to be something, some power in the universe that has been helping me deal with things. It could just be myself, but if it isn’t, I won’t be surprised.

I puked in the morning due to my anxiety and nervousness. I remember feeling this anxious and nauseous only during one of my board exams in class 12. It was the math exam and I hated math, or more specifically, I hated integration. After all, integration did not make sense to me and with a best friend who was a genius at it, I just felt so unprepared for it. I used her help a lot, my best friend’s, she is probably one of the reasons I passed that exam with good marks. Today morning was a low point in my life that I do not want to hit again. But here is the thing, I slept for 3.5 hours at night. It was bad, skipped breakfast because I was running late to the exam, missed the first part of it and so that whole thing is going to go to hell. But the good part is, I am done with the course, and regardless of where it leaves me on the grades front, I learnt stuff and it is something I will not regret.

Going as I was with this totally ruined morning, I got some much needed and appreciated validation and reassurance from my TA in my literature course. He said that there were 5-6 people in the course who he really wanted to do literature and that I was “easily one of them”. He also said that he was impressed by my idea for my final paper, that he thought it was brilliant and that he found it hard to see such complex ideas coming even from a third or fourth year English major. Seeing that he is a fave of the whole English department, he is loved by all the faculty, and someone I personally look up to a lot, this was extremely reassuring and I felt very grateful. It was like my worries about the exam went flying away with the wind.

But here is where my traitorous mind comes in. It seems keen on making me doubt myself and now that I got some validation, I am filled with fear of not meeting those expectations. I am not sure if I can do justice to whatever I am working on, it is a fear I have constantly battled but now with his words ringing in my head, I want to really give it my all. But my fear is, what if my all is not enough? What if my all is destined to fall? But, these thoughts are always existent in my head, and I am not going to let them stop me from trying. I am just starting out, I will get there one day, won’t I?

And that’s my memory for the day.