“I am no hero, I am no warrior,
I just have the patience to burn”
I am losing. Losing a portion of my dream every day. I don’t know, how much of it is left. Ideas have become scarce, confidence is extremely low, courage to push myself has drastically decreased… I don’t know, if this is the time to call ‘quits’. Deep inside, every day, I keep frowning at the way I am living life. Every hour that gets wasted pierces through my soul. But what should I do?
I am unable to write research papers. I am unable to produce new ideas. I have lost the love of my life. I don’t know where she is and I don’t even have courage to talk to her. I have failed to keep all the promises that I have made to people around me. Probably, they have forgotten but I haven’t. I was never meant to be ordinary. And for making this life ‘ordinary’, I have myself to blame.
Long ago, when I was a little kid, I read a story of an old man, who is alone on a rainy night, on the verge of death… and he cries in pain about all the time he has lost. He remembers his youth, his courage, his confidence and he wonders why he failed to achieve anything. He looks outside, at the sky, through a tiny window. Within the clouds, through the brightness of a lightening, there appears an angels. The angel resembles the love of his life. He recollects the moments he had spent with her. And then tears flow from his eyes. He remembers the moments, when she was snatched away from him. And how much he wished to be with her. He remembers his attempts at succeed in life and regain her. He sheds more tears. But else can be do? He has lost away all his life and now, he has no one but himself to blame. He repeatedly asks himself, why he ended up living an ordinary life. He has no answers. It’s too late to do anything. He waits for death. But the death doesn’t come easily. And he keep recounting every bit of life that he has wasted away. I remember translating this story of the old man from Urdu to English. I am increasingly getting a feeling that, my life would turn into that.
Last five years have been extremely tragic. During this time, I have lived two lives. One life within my heart and other life outside. Both the lives have no connect with each other. Sometimes, I try to figure out, how one life can exist with other and it all falls apart. The problem is that, just like that old man, I am failing to give shape to the life in the heart. I am failing to convert my dreams into reality. I am failing. And in the process I am losing myself.
At the same time, I am living a life outside. A lot of people have been associated with me in this life. I don’t know, if I ever will be able to explain them about my other life that exists in my heart. I don’t know, if they ever will be able to understand my frustration and humiliation. But then, I don’t want my depression to have any impact on anyone who is associated with me in this outer life.
I know, I am sounding all confused and out of mind. But, I don’t want to sit at my death bed and recollect this life as a waste of time. I don’t want ordinariness to creep into my life. If sacrifices are to be made, this is the time.
A man needs isolation to connect with himself. I don’t know, how long this isolation lasts.