Perpetually petrified.
I am a yellow-belly.
Am a scardy-cat.
A total wimp!
A friend of mine recently told me that I happen to be the most chicken-hearted person he has met. Not that it brought any news to me but it got me thinking. Was I always this scared or am I at the ‘liberty’ to blame my ‘situation’ for such a state of mind. May be I have always been like so, I mean, I remember waking up to nightmares since I was 7 something. O! Wait isn’t that an entirely different kind of scared?
For as long as I remember, I have never been afraid to speak my mind, getting my own way or fighting for what I believe in. Does that count?
Do I have to be brave at work or just in my personal life?
Does winning a mighty contract at the hands of wicked-men count for something?
Or being courageous is only about having the nerve to tell life to just fuck off…?
I am scared of heights.
I have never been able to use a diving board.
I cannot do a horror movie.
I panic easy.
My brothers easily freak me out with minimal efforts.
Even complete strangers on motorbikes without helmets manage to leave me jittery.
I am frightened at the very concept of losing a loved one.
Does being brave involve one to take risks? My father always said: Business is nothing but a risky race. And if you sit on the sidelines…someone is going to beat you to the finishing line.
Did my friend mean the same?
Am I too comfortable in my life to take risks?
Am I frightened to even imagine a different kind of existence?
Am I spineless?
You know what may be he was right. I mean, I cannot possibly imagine thinking of messing up situation any further. But what I don’t understand is how on earth, am I going to come across as bold and daring by putting someone else in danger…???
For the last few years, my extended family has bestowed a certain title upon me; lovingly call me – stone-hearted. And just because I didn’t cry at my father’s funeral or my brother’s for that matter.
Was I supposed to breakdown and cry right in the middle of my mother losing consciousness and brothers returning from the graveyard? And if I didn’t – means I did not love my father enough. Were my dry eyes a sign of my cowardice?
Was unplugging my brother from his life support an out and out act of horror-struck? Was I losing my wits? Should I have done something like tell the doctors to fuck off and perhaps extended his existence on earth? Would have that made me fearless?
I just don’t understand what do I have to do to be courageous? Risk it all??? Would that help??? But I don’t have much to put at stake and does that permit me to put the remaining half of my family at a possible threat?
See even here; all I can do is present possible excuses instead of just shutting up and taking the plunge! I am just trying to understand the reason behind it all. I used to be this spontaneous and adventurous girl drive entirely on the ratio of adrenaline in her body. I was always and forever open to experimenting and I don’t recall shying away from a ‘situation’ (If you know what I mean). Then why now? Am I getting too old for the action? (Did I just blame my age for my actions? Okay, I do have problems). But seriously does age actually stop you from being a madcap? Or is it just another excuse?
You know as far as I understand this; perhaps the reason is fairly simple. I am driven on my emotions now as opposed to my wits as earlier. But does that truly make me a paper tiger?
I will perhaps continue to be a “phatoo” (as he puts it) but I know one thing for sure…I refuse to go down without a fight. And if it’s any consolation – my dramatic hand gestures always manage to pull me back.
