Almost 2 months ago I embarked on a dangerous journey. A journey of self discovery—to find out who is hiding behind that mask. The mask I had been wearing so long that it had become part of my face, it had made me invisible. Invisible even to myself.
I just had to take the mask off. I was tired of being invisible. Little did I know what ugliness was behind that mask.
Certain stages of the shedding away process of this mask was previously logged. But what I refused to bring on paper was the side of me that surfaced that actually made me feel good…the side that screamed insanely at a parking attendant for asking me to move my car, the side of me that shrugged shoulders when I saw the feeling of the hurt I had caused in the eyes of close friends, the side of me that smacked strangers in elevators for not taking their fingers off a button, the side of me that treated nice people like pieces of chess board game…and why was not being me making me feel good? No remorse. No remorse at all.
I wasn’t even searching for a why? Too oblivious to the death of Dr. Jekyll to even ask why?
Until last Friday. I went to see “The Little Prince”. A line struck a cord. It triggered a sentence a friend had recently said. That in turn triggered a post I had read. Then the questions came. The whys? Along with them, the answers. I now know why. Why I had to kill the old me. Why I had to rebel against the people in my immediate circle.
It boiled down to a simple innocent sentence uttered by a sincere friend. What did she say?
“You are naïve.”
I am now glad I have managed to pull up the hand brake on my transformation and made a sudden U-Turn.
But I had to go down that road. Sometime it is a lot easier to completely destroy something down to a rubble and then start rebuilding from scratch than to fix it.
But what I still don’t know is: Had I taken the mask off, or had just started to wear a new one. Am I wearing a mask now? Where is my real face gone?
Out of the blue, he writes, “Have you ever seen your own gravestone? A hazy mental image of my name over my eternal resting place pops into my head. He doesn’t wait for my reaction though, he’s in his own world, typing away, bouncing things off me.
“I did, I went to my grandfather’s village when I was 12. Walking around the meadow like most schoolboys do, probing for some kind of movie-like adventure. I stumbled on an abandon graveyard. It was almost sunset; the grass with their bright golden aurora formed a cozy blanket around most of those eternal beds. One by one, I read the names off their stones…my whole being froze when my eyes fell on that one stone. It was my name. My full name craved in stone. It was like…I dunno know how I felt…I knew it wasn’t me…but…it was…my name…my name…my name…on a stone…on a grave…in the middle of nowhere…”
I don’t type anything back. I am there taking that walk with him. I want to be there. The image emerging is clear, serene, pleasant…why am I smiling? I go and stand next to him. I like it here. I look at where he is looking. There is his name. But where is mine? Why can’t I see it? The letters don’t dance around and change into my name as they should. I want to see my name. Why can’t I?
He types back, “Anyway, sorry I brought up death. I don’t usually bring up …”
But I’m not reading…I’m upset…why can’t I picture my name on my stone? What is blocking it? I know I am not afraid of death, heck I have already written my will.
I often wondered why shooting jackasses is illegal. Serious, get rid of all the nitwits out there. The world would be a much better place. And no I am not talking about people with a low IQ but those who flush all human social etiquettes down the toilet; those who do not know when to put a sock in it; those who do not deserve to live in a society; those whose brains are not high wired to live amongst people. In Persian there is a good word for these people, we call them ‘bee sho’oor’. All ‘bee sho’oors should die.
I never knew the English equivalent for this word; roughly translated, it’s “one with no common or social sense” . (I am not sure if there’s a word in Arabic for it either).
Anyway, I have meet my fair share of these “no social sense” people in my life; but had no idea what English insult to use to refer to them. Until I stumbled upon this site Inspire, Move & Touch and saw this post: OUR SOCIAL BRAIN
Could it be Social Intelligence? Hmmmmmm? So could I curse out loud, oh you little low social intelligence jackass?
Over the next few days I would be doing some research on SI. It seems to be an interesting concept.
Disclamer: Bee shoor is a hurful insult in Persian. Please use it wisely 😉
So off I go to join the peace corps…
|Your Aura is Blue
Spiritual and calm, you tend to live a quiet but enriching life.
You are very giving of yourself. And it’s hard for you to let go of relationships.
The purpose of your life: showing love to other people
Famous blues include: Angelina Jolie, the Dali Lama, Oprah
Careers for you to try: Psychic, Peace Corps Volunteer, Counselor