“What comes rushing back is what was left to bury far, one thing destiny does best is to invite awareness to the past, of the actions that remain tethered and for long they last.”

To the dearest you,

There exists this perception in those I experience around me, the notion that my life doesn’t pronounce happiness quite the same, or that the way of my being seems to be quite harmful for the psyche, or that it is decidedly strange, and therefore must be mended, if not by my willingness, then by someone else’s will. All these colloquial musings about another’s life. It’s a strange notion when one thinks about it, but not strange enough for me to have not come about it at a certain time, have felt the calls of such for another human being. 

Initially, when I began to explore the functioning of myself, a consequential development I saw was that I had begun having more awareness of the world; the complexities that I found within my being, I saw reflected in those around me. What differed was that only my awareness was the one spreading and cascading over my vicinity, while of those around me remained within a degree of progress that was hardly noticeable to me on the outside. And upon adopting different ways that better suited me, I had become a righteous judge deciding who was living in a manner I could approve of, and if I could not approve, then how should the improvisation come about.

I had put myself in a position superior, I knew the way, others were lost. Although I rarely ever subjected myself to arguments with people regarding how they must proceed and hardly ever took on the task of convincing another to see through my eyes, the urge to point out the assumed right way had planted its seed in me. I can, with utter clarity, envision how this perspective made me tumble with emotions years ago. The burning aggression I had felt for the world that remained unshifting around me, yet hoping that it would embrace me, accommodate me in ways that I was getting reborn, in ways that it would hold my newness, and give it ropes smooth to take, and free myself of the old reality. Yet, everything around me remained bland and, rage-inducingly, the same. No one came along with me to walk on the newly sculpted pathway, and it was aggravating to witness that not only had they not joined me on this not-so-playful adventure, but they seemed to want me to accompany them in theirs. Fulfilling this wish demanded me pushing myself back in the cocoon I had to rupture to get out of. 

I suppose that fueled my dislike for the world even more. To be on the receiving end of a lack of understanding was not an unfamiliar emotion, but nonetheless it has been an infuriating one, and to add to that, the perpetual desire of people wanting not to adopt but rather to restrict one walking on their path irritated my emotions even more. But isn’t that what I also wished for, even if I didn’t vocalize it? Want them to keep growing in a manner that we could walk onwards together? To leave their old path and join this new one that I had discovered? I got angry if they continued not to when they didn’t understand why they must, when they wanted instead to remain unaware of the existence of this path, because perhaps it held no appeal for them, just like how their path no longer had any appeal for me. 

I wanted others to walk in shoes that they were not gifted, cannot make a purchase for themselves, or do not wish to buy even if granted the possibility. I wanted them to utilize their minds the same way, to exercise their bodies with the same routine, and to nourish the soul with the same ingredients. There was negligible space, and patience, for someone who felt as if drifting away on the opposite end of my self-customized scale. 

It took a while for the understanding to dawn that what I was seeing as lost was only the way destined for them. Could they still exercise their will to change in ways beneficial? Yes, I believe so, however, I also came to believe that “beneficial” is a subjective term, even if it may seem the most objective, there are subtleties at play that cannot be overridden so simply. Beyond that, it had become clear to me that this change must be sought through an inherent call and without the disturbance of the outside factors influencing one’s understanding of themselves and what they ultimately decide to opt for. Because the truth of the matter remained that I did not know half of what they were meant to be or to do in their lives. I did not write their stories with my pen. I was not their guide. Which way they needed to take was for them to decide. What role they came to master was not appointed by me. So, whether or not they needed what I deemed as beneficial, whether or not it would even be beneficial, was a point useless to wonder and insist upon.  

I still found some residual frustration oozing out of me when what I had forced myself to master, to gain reprieve, wasn’t even a topic of interest for someone who was suffering and could, from my own biased perspective, use the solution I had carved to cut themselves free from that torment. I did let go, albeit not fully, of the idea of seeing everyone living their lives hinged on the same principles. Since then, to practice more of this elusive detachment, I adopted a new practice, which for a huge part turned out to be a failed practice. I had, with a childlike innocence, believed that the phrase “to live and to let live” worked without making it work. It did not work, and I could not make it work. Even if I disciplined myself to not step my foot in others’ constructs without their consent, I was not granted the same favor, or mercy, you may say. 

I have been faced with similar judgement, or to be more precise, I have experienced this since before, but had only become aware of this nature in others after having seen through illusions of my own. So, when someone posed the question that I used to pose inwardly, directed at the outer world, “Why must you be this way? Why must you choose this?” I frustratedly thought, “Why do they keep asking if I keep on telling them that it is not within my desire to do so? And if I’m not asking questions, then why am I being asked to?” But the answer that came back was, “But why? Why wouldn’t they keep asking the same question when they have shown you that they desire to keep doing so, when nothing about them has changed?” 

I expect change from them, they expect change from me. Alas, none of us have changed. What a beautiful orchestration to realize that their refusal to change is simply mirrored in my refusal to change. It was glaringly obvious that if some peace has to be had, then something must be done, and if someone refuses to change, then the only viable option remains is to change the expectations I have of them. If I keep my own demands unchanged, and they remain stubborn too, then nothing shifts in the reality that I deem as undesirable. My frustration then, and now, seemed to be originating from someone’s unchanging self, yet my expectation of them changing remained unchanging too, tying me to a chain that I already held the key to. It made complete sense as to why I found a strange similarity in my emotions while going through this seemingly new concern, turns out, only the illusion had shifted, without shifting its essence. 

I allow this new understanding to surface when I perceive myself to be put as a specimen under a microscope, when I find myself utterly misunderstood and wish for the inspector to understand me in a manner they do not wish to, in a manner that at some curve of my life I had refused to. Alas, this understanding follows the rhythm of nature, it wavers, it comes back in drastic amounts, or shrinks itself some days to make it harder to find. On the days I’m feeling bright, finding this understanding is a non-issue; however, on days I feel the unsavory taste of judgments myself, I become more and more inclined to cast back the same. The question remains, how do I go about it when I find myself bombarded by the same scenarios again?

I do not exempt myself from feeling misunderstood and wanting to provide succinct and reasonable explanations to bring the other person to see what I’m seeing, if that is what is asked of me. However, with the continuation of these sour experiences, I learned that I can, not with certainty, classify them in one of the three ways they can go. One being that the person I wish to come to my side has decidedly chosen to never be on this side. The explanations fall on deaf ears, even if demands for having it were made from their end, and my efforts lie wasted grounded in earth, with my energy leaving me to bind itself to the same. Second, there are those who seem to get the gist of my plea, who appear agreeable on the surface, but that’s where all my spoken word remains stuck, on the surface. Third are those who have already experienced the same or have a deep empathy and intelligence of their own emotions, with whom the acknowledgement of the manner of my being doesn’t need my detailed explanations to reach the heart of the topic.  

For a person of my disposition, someone who has been prone to misunderstanding eyes, I receive many guests like this still in my life, the ones that refuse to listen to reason, for they are extremely clear for what makes sense to them, there is no space where I can fit my worldview beside theirs. With time, with maturity finding its way to me, I did begin to loosen the expectation of my expectation being met. There is hardly something one can do when faced with experiences like these, all one gets home to, is questions. Not about their lack of understanding, but rather doubts regarding your own ability to make them understand, or if the conversation had been brutal enough, then you end up puzzled with the question that perhaps the problem lies within you, so why not change your path to the one they have prodded you to choose? 

Instead of you painting them in your colors, you have been drowned in theirs, and you can’t seem to rub it all off. It stays, in bits and sticky pieces, on your skin for years, making those doubts form molehills to mountains. Only your sheer will to keep your sanity and belief in your learned sense of self can make you come out and be less in favor of listening to those very people. Resolution to completely ignore their statements will come with difficulty, and that is okay, all one can do is fight the best, let the remnant of scars remain, see if new wounds open to bleed, and aid them in recovery. Some hurt is inescapable. What remains significant is to become adept at discernment of whom to take judgement from and whom to give explanations to.

While all this remains an unfortunate experience one goes through, what remains true with discovery is that one can only change oneself, in the stead of which changes can ripple in the glazed reality of ours, but the beginning of this ripple must be oneself, without which, we remain in a self-constructed maze. One must also acknowledge that change when expected from the outside, one must stand ready to also face disappointment. To further derive value from such dilemmas, it remains vital to ensure that one turns inwards to begin the search for important clues. If possible, then utilize these circumstances for solidifying one’s sense of self in the face of a plethora of questions that one can expect to be asked and whose well-formed answers one still may not have. The intention remains to let outer judgements unfold within the inner self to illuminate our biases against our own ways. 

It may not be a pleasurable task, and to disclose to you, I have not become immune to doubts still and wonder if I ever will be, but I do like to give into the timid hopefulness and find this lesson to be worthy of dedicating myself to, to reach a peace in relation to the world outside of me and allow those around me to indulge in their destinies without my constant judgement cast upon them, with or without their knowing, and separate myself when similar judgement finds its way to me, allowing me to strengthen my appetite for the undesirable and move, in small increments, towards the ebb and flow of mastery. 

From my heart, to yours.