I had an interesting conversation the other day. It was a friend of mine reminising his college life, telling both the fun and horrors of the college and the hostel he lived in. Its funny how your imagination works through the words of others. While he sat and mentioned the people he know and described vague details, I was transported to this alternative reality, where every vague detail was valuable information. The experiences from my life filling in for the rest.
While he explained his college and the poor state it was in, I saw a college not unlike my own! As he mentioned his teachers, I conjured up people based on my life experiences. However, the one feeling I felt overpowering through all of it, was a common thread of those teachers looking at themselves people who failed life.
It was not something mentioned straight up, it was something I used to rationalise the strange behaviours he mentioned about. It resonated with my experiences of some of the greatest teachers I knew as well. I often look back and wonder how the very same people who taught me some of the things I know, the very same people who at the time were overpowering with their understanding and knowledge always seemed to have a certain addiction. A certain person was rumoured to be someone who drank between classes. A certain person could not leave the charms of tobacco rolled inside the sun dried beetle leaf. A certain person could not bear the fact of being wrong. I often wondered in my naive teen head, why are they enslaved to such things?
Ever since, life has moved on. Through my journeys, I have seen life viciously attack and rip apart some people when they were still raw and incapable of facing the asteroid that was to crash on them. I have seen life lift and glorify people for seemingly simple actions. Though, I must admit, the vast majority of my journey has seen more of the former incidents. Revisiting those people makes me realise that they have been changed forever. The cruel sculpture called life has set into stone certain aspects and carelessly chipped away others without regard of the preferences of the person it shapes. I then understand why people took the decisions they take.
The notorious habits that I could not understand now seemed to make sense, for it was the escape mechanism, the supposed balm that was applied hopelessly to cure the scars of those shattered dreams that life tore apart. I look at the teacher who forced himself into a stupor just to momentarily run away from the weight of life he placed onto himself. I then look onto the people who were tired and sick of those chipped off dreams, and look with disgust at the what life has carved for them and decide to quit life. Seemingly the only power given to us in life is the ability to forfeit it. I look back at those countless millions and wonder, what would I do? What would I do if tomorrow life suddenly chips away those dreams?
That is my single biggest fear. What would I do, if I fail life? To be honest, I do not know. However, all I know is that I no longer look down upon those notorious habits. I now look at them and the people who practice them with awe. To forger on with a temporary balm on gaping wounds is courageous. To live life with that courage is honourable.
