Demons

Ever since I can recall my academic life, from school to university, I have been an extremely worried student. I have constantly been of the opinion that I am not doing well and that I am only destined for doom and nothing less. That is not exactly a wonderful feeling and while I never did cherish those memories where I have vomited or cried or spent hours freaking out about everything under the sun, I also learnt to kind of suck it up and deal with it. I would get extremely stressed about many things, sometimes very much legitimate things, deserving things. I would deserve the most scathing comments I could inflict on myself and inflict them I did with a sadistic pleasure that I still find.

I never had a choice, I had the undeniable pleasure of being a disappointment many a time and being an appreciated success equal times. College taxonomies implore me to define myself in some way, ways that are simultaneously alien to me as they are relatable. I feel like I am an average student at best alongside times when I feel like I am intelligible one (not intelligent, mind you). Actually, that is a lie, I have felt like an intelligent student too at times, especially during English classes in school. At university, I felt intelligent in certain classes that have gone so far away into the horizon that talking about them feels eerily like an exercise in nostalgia. Let me rather not.

I think part of the problem comes from a place of deep-rooted anxiety and insecurity, and dare I say it, hatred and prejudice directed towards myself. That is right, I probably hate myself, for a lot of things, the least damaging of all being my own perceived mediocrity. Just saying it out loud makes me feel like I am creating unnecessary drama, creating a space that legitimises my own demons, just so that I can bask in the comfort of my own misery. It is convoluted, extremely so but the fact is, I don’t think I can say any of it without being reminded of the pervertedness of my own mind. It makes me hate it all even more and wish desperately that I didn’t have my mind, that I (this wonderfully constructed self-identity that somehow is intrinsically connected to my essence) didn’t exist. I don’t think I have, ever in my life, despite a lot of issues and problems, ever wished that I didn’t exist. But recently, it is a thought that comes back again and again, to make me wonder what it is about my existence that I cherish enough (turns out, the answer is nothing, really).

Things I cherish don’t cherish me back the same way, and well, I might wax lyrical about having no expectations but when it came to my own doorstep, I was left extremely disappointed and hated everything (enough to state that I shall cherish those same things no longer). I am easily emotional, a fact that I rue to no end (of course, no one likes to associate themselves with someone who is so prone to tears all the time like I am!). I have never felt quite so emotional as I do these days, tears seem quite ready to flow out at any point of time. Overwhelmed is probably the right term to use, I am most definitely, completely overwhelmed and right now, it is out of my hands that the only thing I can do is shed tears of helplessness. And what a wonderful job I am doing of that, perhaps the best job I have done so far. It is going to turn out alright right?

And that’s my memory for the day.

 

Stages, Speaking and Passion

I think I have come to a particular point in this whole blog-writing exercise where I kind of feel the stress of having to write every day. It was easier when I was back home, but college has this uncanny ability to knock things down and well, my college life is by no means any different. Today, there was a debate for the candidates standing in the student government elections. It happened in our multi-purpose hall and the whole hall was jam-packed and there were so many people. I could only imagine the terror of the candidates who had to speak and answer questions on stage. But it was a fun debate, there was drama, copious amounts of it. I missed out on a major part of it but I caught the basic gist of what happened.

The stage and the set-up reminded me of the thousand times I have stood on some stage, to make a speech or make an announcement or do anything at all. I have always been very terrified of the stage (except for dance, I believe) and every time before I go on stage, I end up dry heaving, crying and becoming immobile and extremely nervous. I never knew the cause for why I had such reactions to any kind of stage ‘performance’ (very loosely defined). People around me always used to ask me why I worried so much about it when it was not going to affect anything. The reason is, I believe, I always wanted to be on top of my game and any kind of failure or messing up on my part would end up in me being left disappointed.

I remember the time when I was in 9th standard when we were studying about the elections in India in our Civics class. To demonstrate how elections work, we had mock elections in our class. I decided that I was going to participate in that elections. I was a lot bolder back then. It is something I almost always miss myself. I believe growing up has made me more cautious and while it may not necessarily be a bad thing always, it does come with its own drawbacks. I fear that I miss out on many opportunities simply because I wasn’t bold enough to take it up. But more on that some other time I guess.

I started a party, called it Warriors of Democratic India (WDI), came up with a manifesto, made a speech and campaigned extensively. I found people who supported me completely, who worked long hours to get my posters done (by hand!) and pamphlets made and distributed. We put in a lot of effort towards that election. We had a campaigning period in class and that was the time when other parties decided to actively target me and my posters. I remember this rage that came over me. And when it was my turn I went on to annihilate all their arguments, their parties and basically everything else. I had my friends come and tell me later that they were awestruck at how I spoke. I did not believe it, mainly because I only remembered being angry and making furious notes and going up on stage and voicing my outrage. But it turned out, my speech had impressed many of them. I ended up ‘winning’ that election with an overwhelming majority.

It makes me think of how we often judge people for showing emotions or any kind of vulnerability on stage or any place where other people can see them. I think anger has become almost a taboo, it is considered as a liability rather than as something with the potential to become a positive force. And there’s a very thin line between being ’emotional’ and ‘passionate’. And it is a line very often blurred. My speech that day was made memorable only because of the passion it embodied. A passion I have subconsciously reduced from any kind of interaction I have with anyone, mainly because it gets ‘overbearing’. How long should one police themselves for expressing their opinions the way they want to?

And that’s my memory for the day.

PS: I am not taking up any political stance here, it is just me trying to make sense of my thoughts and just shooting ideas off the top of my head. (I think the very fact that I have to make this disclaimer clear is an indication of how much we police ourselves)