WHEN A BOY WISHED THERE WAS A MANUAL
You, the most beautiful, confident, and liveliest of us all. You told the class you saw me at the market during the weekend. And that I was dressed like a Rapper. Everyone was impressed. I was unsure. You put your hand on my shoulder the next morning. I took it down. I was shy that I like you. What a quirky sensation. You sensed rejection. My friend said you like me. I talked to you during Lunch break. You frowned. I doubted if my friend was ever right. I thought of you all day and dreamt of you all night. I spent the next Lunch break dolefully watching you giggle and play. Then I watched you again the next Lunch break. Then the next one after that and then the next and the next and the next.
Above is a poem I wrote a few years ago about the first girl to show interest in me (or at least, the one I noticed and remembered) in primary school.
I have wondered how my love life would have turned out if I had a brief relationship with her. I always wonder if my encounter with her is the reason why I prefer to be asked out rather than me doing the asking. Being as unremarkable as I am, I want that feeling of being needed, wanted, or liked without incitement to be replicated over and over again. It is interesting to trace back some of our traits to their foundation.
When we play the game of “What if”, the alternative scenarios always seem better, don’t they? You should have studied a different course at the university. You should have followed that dream of yours. You should have fought harder to live happily ever after with the love of your life. You’re successful now, but what if you started earlier? You should have made better choices, perhaps you’d be way ahead of your competition by now. When we play this game in our minds, it is not from a place of regret per se. Mostly, we are Ok with the decisions we’ve taken in life. We are not mad at our mistakes because we believe they shaped us for the better. We blame fate, other people, systems, and everything else before we blame ourselves because we have a good amount of narcissistic stir in us. We seldom have regrets because we seldom blame ourselves.
I look at my life and I can see how much I’d achieve if I was extroverted. I imagine just how great I’d be if I could read better, the doors I’d open if I’m able to learn a new language. This melancholy for the abilities I don’t possess or the things that perhaps I should have done can become perennial. I should call this the Loser Syndrome. We've come so far yet we're susceptible to feeling like losers. When we dwell on this, it is hard to shake off. Our lives could be going great, but we’re not enjoying them to the fullest for simply thinking we could be better in another alternate reality.
The belief that the alternative is better is the catch for a normal, healthy, steady, secure, and free life. To seek improvement in one’s life doesn't necessarily translate to seeking an alternative reality. To improve is to be aware of where we stand and seek ways to make that standing better. It mustn't be some redemption trip to redo one’s entire life or entirely reprise some alternate scenario. We can improve without the need to have a makeover of our lives.
We can improve without feeling shitty about our lives. We can upgrade to better convenience and better satisfaction through small changes and most times with only a little discomfort. Humble beginnings mustn’t be underdog stories of panic and suffering to succeed. We can achieve great success without the advertised mental suffering that the process brings and that's Ok. We can be hardworking without much loathing and anxiety about the work. This is being graciously hardworking.
The greatest success story for me is the one that the protagonist truly lived and enjoyed as much of the journey as possible. If I should ever create something substantial, let it be that I lived substantially while doing it.