How much are we able to control is perhaps what the whole test of life is about.
Perhaps picking on each other’s insecurities is what being human is all about.
I remember how much I hate being pestered for my insecurity, however much innocently done, but when I ended up doing the same,by mistake, I realised how easy it is to err and how difficult it is to forgive.
The done cannot be undone but nonetheless, the feelings of loss are ever present and one ends up feeling nothing except being mocked by the whole world. A few nonchalant chuckles at the time of the revelation of the insecurity further become a point of depression. The whole world seems to be laughing at you, the air seems to zip past you whispering giggles into your ear and the leaves on those mighty trees applaud the apparent joke that chance had played on you,albeit perhaps unknowingly.
The only reaction the body seems to have is to numb itself to avert the perceived atrocities hurled it’s way. A sharp sound plays in the ears trying to shut out all this mockery that perhaps nature had effected as a course of event however unintentional it may have been.
The eyes suddenly lose their shine and it becomes difficult to see face to face and not scowl through them or to reveal through them the hurt that has been caused. The voice quivers within however the lips turn them the other way in an attempt to make it all seem as if nothing was felt or begrudged in the whole process.
It is easy to say that insecurities are but a part of oneself and one should not be ashamed of the difference that one has with the others but, it is usually not easy to shut out the world in which you live. Though every other day is not spent in anticipation of possible disgrace yet the mind and heart irk to get rid of them, get rid of the probable chance meeting.
It becomes hard to forgive. How many times does one forgive? A point comes when it all seems intentional. It feels the world has decided to chide you for harbouring something different. It is indeed a harsh world and the body by now has become used to, not the chides and remarks but to the possibility of them. The eyes are always suspicious, the ears alert, the lips attempting to arm lest their aid is required and the heart attempting to stay calm.
I wish it was easy to forgive, but sometimes it just isn’t. No matter how much one attempts to get over a thing, a capsule memory of it stays hidden within, ever ready to show it’s ugly head whenever the person of origin appears or whenever our mind decides to execute a mini-heart attack.