Adishri

Such an odd thing to be aware of who you are and what your thoughts are telling you to be. 

In my counselling class this morning, I reunited with an elderly gentleman who seemed to remember me for my random act of kindness towards him on orientation day.

I wrote him a small note on the thoughtful gestures I noticed him doing to help those around him. Ever since that day, he would walk up to me to remind me of my sweet words to him. It became our own internal banter and I told him that I would write more words for him by the end of the day. 

Halfway through the class we took a break for some tea. A woman who didn’t recognise me asked if I was new and I said no, but I continued to blabber some irrelevant information that inspired an uninterested look on her face.

I found it amusing that to some I really will just be an awkward being who overshares. My intention may be rooted in a deep desire to connect to people, to have the perfect rapport with them but I’m slowly but surely accepting the strange with the stranger, and the stranger within me. 

As I was settling in for the second half of class, the elderly gentleman approached me again to make a peculiar comment. He said that he has known people from my culture to be very courageous and that I’m not expressive in that sense.

A wave of emotions flooded my mind. At first, I responded from a place of offence when I told him I’m from another batch where I’m usually active. And then I pacified him when he apologised for sharing his views abruptly. I attempted to diffuse the situation by making a lighthearted joke about being half of another culture that may not be as expressive. To which he preached that one should never box themselves into identities.

I smiled and agreed, I explained that I was joking but he continued to say that he’s a feminist who has a daughter (perhaps around my age) and wishes to see women express themselves. I nodded and told him that with time and experience I will learn, and that I value his observation as there must be some truth to it. 

When class resumed, my brain started fogging up with the interactions I had. I could feel my thoughts crashing into each other and emerging from different parts of my body. My heart whispered the hurt she felt when the elderly gentleman chose to return my sweet words with criticism.

My thoughts began to fight him in my mind and defend me, I thought, wasn’t it hypocritical for him to say that we shouldn’t box ourselves into identities when he critiqued me based on my culture?

My subconscious mind felt aroused when the woman’s expression replicated my mother’s many faces of rejection. It whipped up a new tale this time to tell me that the woman walked towards me eagerly, only to meet an anxious version of me that she wanted nothing to do with. 

Of these two interactions and the energies they carried, I picked one word to find a way to ground my triggers. 

Expression. The elderly gentleman possessed a nervous energy that told me to be more expressive and with the woman I became the nervous energy who should’ve expressed less. There was an imbalance of energy between the three of us. I sensed it, it danced with my triggers but my true self always prioritised a neutral approach.

Coincidentally, the topic in class was about adolescence, the age of discovering the self and how to express it. I could relate to everything that was being discussed and had much to say.

But I was aware that I was amidst a group of young parents who had teenage children and a lot of wisdom to share. So I had made an agreement with myself at the start of the day to sit back and listen. I reconvened with my purpose for the session. The interactions in between were unprecedented but it’s always going to be a part of the flow.

I redirecting my energy back to class and my body relaxed. To move from a state of insurgence to inspiration is a new practice for me but I could feel the roles of each interaction dismantle.

When class ended, I noticed the elderly gentleman hovering around my radius as I was chatting to another classmate. It’s funny, when I dropped my layers of anxiety, judgement and embarrassment, a new set of people flocked towards me to discuss group activities. I bagged a slot for a new internship as well.

I finally got to the elderly gentleman who was waiting on my new words for him. I checked in with myself to find the most indifferent words to confess that my heart was in no mood to sing to him that day. I told him that I would write to him again when I truly felt like it and that any effort I made in that moment would be inauthentic. He smiled back at me, respected my answer and wished me a lovely day ahead, so did I. 

I turned back to the group who was discussing internships and now the woman I fumbled with stood before me. I had to leave so I gave her a warm smile and said goodbye. She returned the smile with an eagerness that satiated my subconscious mind.

On the ride back home I laughed with my triggers, I see them as companions more than bad company. At times they use me to express a familiar role to the world, while I spend my days building the core self brick by brick for them to seek shelter in someday.