Sunday, February 12th, 2023রবিবার, ২৯শে মাঘ, ১৪২৯ বঙ্গাব্দ
When my wife is away, I take care of our two girls. Basic stuff, taking them to school, picking them back up from school, making them breakfast, packing their school lunch (they don’t like school cafeteria food), helping them with homework, transporting them from point A to B over the weekend. We don’t have any domestic help, we like to do our own chores ourselves. These things are mundane and nothing special. Also this is not really hard work if you have some help. In my case my help is my older daughter, so I can get by these things without too much tears and gripe. However, there are many rewarding things that happen during this time. Basically, we decompress and destructure ourselves, especially during the weekends, when their mom is not in town. I experience things that I don’t during times she is in town. This is a long way to get to the point I want to share, which is rather strange.
Yesterday during bedtime, my younger daughter asked me to tell a story, but not from a book, which is what I commonly do. She asked to tell a story about a ‘life-lesson’, from my own life! She is seven! First question I had was, where did you learn that word from and who asked you to ask me this. She said that she learned the word from me, and no one had asked her. This I believe. As I did talk about life lessons over conversation with her older sister.
So I did tell her a life lesson that I learned from her older sister, and she loved it. It is very simple as ‘not panic in times of crisis’ because there is never any crisis. It happened to me right now as I am writing this note. I have forgotten when their art class is. I know it is at 9am, but I have forgotten if it is Saturday or Sunday. As I looked at the close and it said 9:10AM, I panicked. I have forgotten to wake them up and get them ready! I panicked for a second or two. This may come as a surprise to you, but I do panic about these things. Hive goes up and down by 50 cents and my holding goes up and down by half-a-million dollars. I don’t panic, nothing happens to me. I make some financial mistake and I lose $100K, nothing happens to me. But I do panic when I forget about something that I am supposed to do with kids while their mom is away. But then I remember what my older daughter says. “Dad, it’s no big deal, okay?! Just chill!” She is eleven! But of course!
I just texted their mom to confirm that art class is Sunday at 9AM, not Saturday! Phew! Dodged a bullet!
Now, that may not be much of a life lesson for you, but it is for me. And sorry to tell you the lesson is not about forgetting or panicking or not panicking. The lesson is about something entirely different. I hope you get the lesson. Happy Weekend everyone.
Age is just a number they say, but I say it’s just like our in-game level. As we learn, experience, and travel through this game of life, that level on our head increases.
Just how we see those video-games always getting tougher as we level up, life also follows the same rule. To brighten things up every now and then, you must enjoy the little things, the very real “graphics” of nature, family and friends, and have a few hobbies that mean something to you. But, also while keeping in mind, that there always lies a bigger challenge ahead. So, you decide to prep yourself for what’s coming, but sometimes we just get too caught up in this “prepping” process. And to be honest, there’s always a possibility that whatever stands in your way, is something far from what you were expecting.
Yet, hurdle or no hurdle, a little bit of prep time wouldn’t hurt, would it?
Let’s take video-games as an example again. The player that zooms through the main story and game just plays to get rid of it; probably playing on the easiest mode, which is never challenging, and even they sometimes struggle. Hence, they don’t learn a lot about the game’s advanced mechanics and other aspects of combat and the overall game itself. Big fights and missions are finished with ease, because they choose the easier path; while a lot of well detailed NPCs, side missions and treasures get completely ignored.
A curious and lively player though, will always explore, collect, finish secondary missions, level up, and then ride along the main path when needed. These players barely break a sweat when taking on the toughest of missions, not because they’re just good, but because they stress less about hurrying, and usually find different paths to finish a certain mission. Their in-game characters are usually well-equipped too.
Now, the second path isn’t the easiest, it takes time, it requires more effort, so it’s lengthier; yet, in the end, the outcome is still quite the same, isn’t it?
Because the main mission is the same for all of us; to be something, to be someone, to have this, to have that. But is that “end-goal” all that life has to offer? What about the journey? The path we take, the people we meet, our experiences, the good, the bad. Focusing on just one path, and staying on that path, isolating ourselves in the name of growth; keeping yourself away from the many experiences of life. Life has so much to offer, so every now and then, why not try and indulge in the infinite?
A bit of sacrifice and compromise is always needed, but to live life with blinders always equipped on our sides, beating ourselves up to reach the end line quickly? I don’t know if it’s right or wrong, but life is a lot more than just running after success, money and fame.
Our destination here will all be the same, a few feet under the ground. But during our last days, one will have a memorable story to tell, and the other probably won’t.
I don’t like the concept of weak.
So many people, female and male, think of themselves as weak. I would, at most, refer to it as a physical state where we don’t feel energetic - but that’s it. I wouldn’t go any further than that. Not everyone was born to be built like a mountain or carved like a precious marvel statue. Neither were we born to lead and be an example, nor were we cut from the same cloth meant to blend,and nor are we all the black sheep in the herd of whites.
As mundane as it sounds, each of us is unique. Our tolerance and level of strength are different. I can’t take 2 punches in my face and still stand up like it didn’t hurt at all. I won’t pretend that the sight and smell of rotten things don’t churn my stomach. Fear too sometimes grips my heart and mind in a fierce chokehold, and sometimes, feeling of misery buckles my knees so hard that I fall. But that’s not what all my days look like - neither does yours. There are days when I feel a huge bubble of fearlessness inside of me or strength that can put a mountain to shame.
Did I stray too far? Well, I’ll tell you why. I don’t see myself as weak - in fact, I think I have a fairly strong mind and I’m bold. I can’t point to anyone as weak because it’s a loose concept; and how can I, when the only similarity I find with someone else is that we are both born human? It’s preposterous to assume someone is weak when we’re not born with similar physical attributes, raised in different households, have diversified mindsets, and have experienced life in our own way. Even growing up in the same house, siblings are not similar to each other.
Not having the same level of strength doesn’t make you weak, and neither does having a meltdown and shedding endless tears. So if someone is having a momentary lapse and not at their full strength, you can lend some of yours. Even the strongest of us can have a day or days when we’re at our weakest - would you like to be picked on for it or wish that someone would lend you some of their strength? You’re not weak - not even on your worst day will you be weak. I wonder if anyone else would agree with what I think but this is my point of view.
Weak isn’t what defines you.
I met you in my autumn.
I was falling down on the ground, on and on at that time. When you came, I took you for granted and listed you on my list of all the dried up leaves. But it was the spring that you were carrying for me; a blind who was ignorant to embrace the change you were offering, stuck with the scattered pieces like it's the end. But you turned out to be the one who started picking those dried leaves with too much care and affection with a view of healing. I told you, it's not working, and you can't bring back the freshness once it has lost its way to life. You were stubborn and determined to go to the edge of the end. It was your edge because I had already met mine, which caused you to struggle with me. Maybe you had set your edge to infinity.
I tried to push you away, left you aside with those dried leaves, and saw you getting drenched in tears, still I pretended to be ignorant as if I didn't care. So did you pretend too, to stay normal as if you have suddenly started to live with hope? But for how long? That was my question, and you said it was for eternity. I whispered back; 'okay, let's see.''
To be honest, I lost in the end, and I couldn't pretend anymore that I didn't care about the dried leaves that included a unique one like you. You saw me melting; that meant you were winning; yeah, I couldn't hold back that autumn. I have ignored so many cycles like this and delayed embracing you. Lost so many opportunities to let the spring bring joy and happiness within me.
So here I stand now, right in front of you, saying 'Oh, my spring, embrace me now; I'm all yours.'
And thus, my spring finally bloomed; it's so fresh, the touch of it. And feels so alive to be reborn.
It’s been many nights we are living apart— you have deserted me alone in this cold, barren, and unforgiving emptiness of utmost desire. Away from the warmth you used to bring makes my soul agonising in despair. My heart feels your absence in every moment— the moment of escalating ecstasy of entering you; with my eyes feasting on your appearance—damn! quite a sight to behold. Ornamented harmonically with all the succulence the almighty deemed fit for you; sensation at every curve— ah, how could you deprive me of devouring your juiciness top to bottom; head to the bosom, waist to toe!
Those days of ignited libido, I miss those days. I miss touching, looking all over you hours after hours. I miss you responding to every thrust with a blinking cursor— what has happened to me, to us? Are you seeing another person while my heart yearns to rejoin you? Is it you or me?
— hey, come look at me while I’m here. You’ve done it, you’ve reignited the fizzling ray of decaying romance. Look, a piece is born.
— oh, really? :)
Loss,
It’s never easy or straightforward,
and it always hurts.
Loss is so much more than just - loss.
It is so many things wrapped
into one layered reaction
that hits you like a ton of bricks.
It’s a reflection and it’s guilt…
it’s confusing and so much more.
Your visceral reaction is pain,
following a certain level of shock
that wants to shield you
from the horrifying reality of the truth.
You reflect on your last interaction;
you wish you had told them you loved them once more,
or simply asked how they were doing
because we should all know that
the strong ones struggle too.
You wish you had explained to them
the light they brought
into the world just by existing,
and the way it had shown something special
about your existence.
You feel guilt
take its turn as you realize
all the ways you take it all for granted
because the comfort of their existence was enough.
The ignorance you feel
when you forget how fragile life truly is
and always will be.
There will always be more opportunities
until there are not.
You feel the distorted pain in your heart
dropping down to your stomach
in the shape of a corkscrew,
as you’re overwhelmed with the empathy
you feel knowing that
someone has lost a daughter, a sibling,
a mother, their only parent, or a friend.
Loss,
It hits you
in ways you don’t expect it to.
It is arguably the worst
of the many forms of pain
you experience in life,
and the greatest reminder of gratitude
for the place people have in your life.
Initially, I wanted to write about this new, dreadful and somewhat exciting job interview experience, but it seems like that ship has been set on fire long before the keyboard hit the blank page. Right now, it all crumbled into some fragmented blurry outlines, so making sense of those moments would only confuse this lazy mind. But even so, I am trying to focus on the highlighted ones.
First of all, Nope. I didn’t get the Job.
Secondly, I’ve been fully on wake mode for 48 hours straight, which technically could be the reason for the bad performance. But the truth is, it’s not. I was simply bored, tired, anxious and forgot to get over the technical basics the night before.
Thirdly, for the first time, I got to see the structure of an underground parking lot and truth be told, the atmosphere in there is pretty much similar to those bad horror movies sequels or serial killer documentaries. Empty cars left unattended, one middle aged security guard would linger around the slide-down gate and from time to time, like a magician, would disappear from visual sight. Shadows would dance around in unexpected corners, mocking the pathetic excuse of those sources of eclectic lights.
I’ve got to meet the most anxious, nervous and borderline depressed boy in my life. He was the first person to show up for the interview, with a brick size book, overused paper notes and a phone that was on the verge of shutting down. How did I know about the phone? Well, He talked about it at least twenty times during the whole interview. I never met anyone before who had to make conversation with other people to get over their anxiety but this boy, man he kept on trying to make small talks which sadly never took off with anyone.
At a certain point I was like, someone just give him the job, before his panic small talk kills us all.
