For better and for worse

Somedays are better than others
Others are worse than most
But most days are blurred into fast forward
To the days that are for better or for worse.


Time has never gone faster. When I look back, I can’t quite figure out what happened. All I can see or tell are the days where darkness were at its peak, more than the days my strengths outshone them.

I still remember the day I got my results. I didn’t dare open them in the college. So, I let my sister leave early and took a train few minutes afterwards. In the middle of the ride, I just couldn’t hold it back and decided to tear the letter open. The letter that held more value than most things in this world. At least, that’s how I saw it.

I opened the letter in the middle of a relatively packed train. Hardened faces, boring into nothingness. Then I saw it, my ultimate failure. It is really difficult to explain how much it hurts to know that the one thing you thought you were, is untrue.

I wasn’t clever. I wasn’t outspoken. I didn’t sing like my friend. Neither did I dance like her. I couldn’t act like him. I was never strong like them. I wasn’t anything other than mediocre. The only thing that defined who I was, was that I was an A grade student. I was smart. Or so I thought.

I don’t think anyone could ever break me the way that piece of paper did. If I am not smart than, who am I? How dare that piece of paper define who I am! But am I not the one that gave it the power to do so in the first place? But how could I not? That piece of paper held the most important aspect for achieving my dreams.

I can’t say I was surprised. I knew my exams weren’t good. But that little voice of hope that lingered there for the last few months diminished completely. The voice that led me to believe: maybe, just maybe, it will be okay.

But it wasn’t okay and I couldn’t simply drown myself in self pity. I had no one to blame for this. Except myself.

Fortunately, I kept myself together and I was blank the rest of the way. Then I walked up to my front door that usually opened to a welcoming scent of familiarity and comfort. But I couldn’t make myself go in. My parents aren’t the type of people that would highlight my failure, esp. when I am in anguish. But I just couldn’t open the door. So, I just stood there, staring through the thick glass until my mother opened the door. I walked straight into my bedroom, trying to keep a straight face. Then I heard my father asking my mother how I did.

I completely lost it then. Not because I thought I was a disappointment to them but because it really hit me, at that moment, that my dreams are broken. Just like the rest of me. A word I never thought I would use to describe myself.

The next few days, I became less tragic and dramatic. I went into my realistically optimistic mode, where I figured out another plan to get my life together. The one where I have one more chance. Another shot at fixing my dreams.

It’s almost a year now and I am ‘working’ towards my finals, which begins from next month. Sometimes, I will wake up and it will be so hard to leave the bed because I am just so irrationally afraid. Of everything. Of knowing the reality of my disadvantages. And then I will remember the insignificance of my fears and wonder why do I do the things I do. Why do I save for going abroad? Why do I think I can get into a good University? Why do I force myself to the hospital that outlines the core of my incompetence, every single week? Why do I wake up for work I dislike every weekend? Why do I function seven days a week? And yet, my struggles are tragically first world problems.

Sometimes, I think I might be depressed. But then again, I am not. I will continue to tell myself: no matter what happens, wake up, dress up, show up and never give up. But sometimes, I won’t listen to myself. And I can’t tell if that’s okay, but it feels great. I don’t know if I should even be writing this. I am not a success story.

But I am not a failure either. In all honesty, I do not know whether I will be successful at achieving my dreams after doing all the things that keep my anxiety oscillating every moment of my life. But what I do know is that, by waking up everyday I am committing an act of Sabr (patience). Hard work pays, always. Even if it’s bitter and hard and makes you want to lie motionlessly under the blanket forever. Hang in there.

I take comfort in knowing that my problems really are insignificant compared to the world. So, I go on about my day reminding myself to have a little more faith. To work hard and make the ‘difficult’ choices, so that even if I end up being an utter failure, I will still look back thinking: every time I did something I hated, I became just that much stronger. Besides, what choice do I have?

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