wordsofluck

[wordsofluck]

The Percentage of Satisfaction

I woke up late today. While I have decided on pretty lofty goals and strict resolutions for this year, I believe it is okay to take it easy on the first day of the year, isn't it?

So. I woke up at 11 A.M. I could hear someone speaking from the living room. Absentmindedly, while I was washing my face, I wondered if the kids weren't given a holiday on the New Year? Surely they deserve it?

As I was making a cup of tea for myself and shaking of the remanants of sleep clinging on to me, I heard a sudden silence, followed by hushed whispers in the room. Curious, i peeked out, and saw a couple of kids glancing at me, only to look away instantly and say something to each other. While I was intrigued, I wasn't really interested in the shenanigans of two twelve year olds.

Then, I heard my mother call for me. She said, ‘Would you be willing to teach the kids some math?’ while looking at them fondly. I noticed them looking at me shyly, with request on their lips and hope in their eyes. I was reluctant. Was this really the way I wanted to start my year?

Sighing, I agreed. The kids instantly made some space for me to sit, pushing their bags to the end of the sofa, hapazardly putting away the rest of the books. As I sat between them, their voices clamber over each other, giving me updates about their life. They end their one sided conversation with letting me know that they are learning about Percentages in school.

I asked for their textbook. Looking at the sums gave me a nostalgic feeling. I remembered sitting in the classroom, competing with my friends to see who can solve the question set the fastest. Back then, the biggest of my worries were hoping that my favourite seat in the bus remains empty, praying that my friend doesn't skip the school because I brought her favourite food for lunch, controlling my laughter during the lectures so that the teacher doesn't catch us.

Internally reminiscing my past, I asked the kids few questions about the concept of percentage. They seemed confused and a little demotivated. I felt a twinge of sadness. For someone whose life is going to be dictated by percentages in future, how ironic is it that the kids don't know what they mean?

We started with some examples. I explain, ‘Percent means per hundred. Imagine you have a pizza with fifty slices. One of you ate forty slices out of it', and the kids started giggling, with me joining them because how silly is that? Continuing, I say ‘Percentage tells us, if you ate 40 out of 50 slices, how many slices would you have eaten if the pizza was of 100 slices.’ Too many slices in question. The kids were totally confused.

I started panicking internally. Hating it, i gave them and example of marks in a test. ‘Suppose one of you scores 35 out of 40 and 40 out of 50, who has scored more?’ The kids were rightly puzzled. ‘Since we are talking about 40 and 50 marks as total, it's unfair to assume who has scored more, isn't it?’ They noded in sync. Feeling like I was getting somewhere, i said, ‘Because of this, we try to make it a bit fair. What if both of them had given a test of 100 marks? In that case, it would be easier to calculate who scored more, isn't it? That's what percent is. Per cent. Per hundred. We calculate the value of anything, per hundred. So, everything becomes fair and easy for us’. The kids seemed satisfied. I was glad.

While I was looking at the textbook for more examples, one of the kids said, ‘But what if I had tried harder even though my percentage is less?’ And my heart broke. Because, isn't this the reality for so many of us? The reality where our efforts don't always equal the results. The balance is a little skewed there. I had no idea what to say. However, the other kid’s voice broke through my thoughts. She said, ‘Does it matter then? If you worked hard, that's it! Why do we have to worry so much about percentage and results and all that?’

And, oh. Exactly. Running and chasing after cut off scores and eligibility criteria for every phase of my life, I had forgotten how much I liked working hard for something, just for the sake of it. Not overshadowed by the fear of meeting the society's expectations, or the looming thought of failing my loved ones, I had lost sight of the reason why I liked working hard. It was the feeling of contentment, laughing and joking around with my friends while packing our backs on our way home from the exam centre. It was the feeling of confidence when telling my mother that the exam went well and I solved all the questions. It was the feeling of satisfaction, knowing that I did all I could, and that's all it is.

The kids continued solving their sums. I didn't realise how fast the time flew, when they announced that it's time for them to go home. Packing their bags and moving towards the door, they turned to say, ‘We loved learning from you today! It was fun. When will you be at home again?’ And, ah. That light and fluffy feeling again. The feeling that felt so nostalgic. I realised, it was satisfaction. Oh. It was the satisfaction of doing things right, helping the kids learn, regardless of the score or result of their tests in school next month.

So yeah, maybe this was the way I wanted to start my new year. I'm glad I made this choice.

[wordsofluck]

Grief and a cup of tea.

TW : Mentions of depression, self deprecating thoughts, anxiety.

Some days, I wake up with a heavy heart. It is one of those days where my past and all my bad decisions hang over me, slowly sucking my energy out, waiting for me to give up, stay in the darkness. Walking through the day, taking every step feels like traversing through flooded roads with the violent storm pouring over me, the drops of water trying to tear through me, and expose my toxic insides to the world.

It makes me wonder and question every hopeful thought I had. How could I ever think I can erase my past? How can I forget my past regrets? How can I stop thinking about every harsh word, cold criticism, ruthless observation made by me about myself? How could I ever believe that it all gets better at the end?

On those days, I feel like laughing. Mirthlessly. It is almost funny how naive I feel, trying to pretend that everything is better now. Everything is okay. I realised, I look like a little kid trying her mother’s clothes and lipstick, pretending to be older and wiser and cooler. Pretending to be something I am not.

While I am lost in these thoughts, mindlessly looking at the footpath in front of me, walking slowly almost robotically, I feel empty. It feels like everything is a elaborate charade, with me trying to explain the plot of the movie, acting different characters unsuccessfully, only getting more and more desperate with every wrong guess.

But then, as I enter my workplace, I notice two people standing at the entrance of that giant building. They say, ‘Hey! It's so cold today! We saw you from back there so we decided to wait for you’ while pulling at my arms and marvelling at how warm my cardigan is. They effortlessly involve me in their conversation, asking my opinions on the most inane topics, about whether chocolate milkshake is better than the cold coffee at the cafeteria.

I look at them hesitantly. I tell them I don't drink anything other than tea on most days. Words bubble inside me, trying to provide a reason for my choice, while also worried about sharing too much. As the battle inside me rages on, I almost miss their next words. They say, ‘Oh. Does it taste good? Maybe we should try it today!’ and for a moment, everything pauses.

I smile and tell them about the server who fills my cup a little bit more everyday. One of them, holding on to my cardigan, asks me if they have sugar available to add to their cup, while the other, walking a couple of steps ahead of us, turns and grumbles about sugar addiction and weird.

As I walk into the cafeteria, with people bustling around me with full plates and cups of coffee and orange juice and milkshakes. We walk towards the tea stand, and chime in unison, ‘3 cups of tea, please!’ and giggle while saying Jinx! to each other. Holding the warm styrofoam cup in my hand, i realise, oh, I haven't thought about my sadness for a moment. As they call for me to join them at the round table, i think, maybe I don't mind it after all.

[wordsofluck]

Finally caved in and made a Tumblr account for myself. This is a safe space for me to express my emotions, thoughts, words which were never expressed.

Going to paste my old entries from another blogging app here, first. And then, I will continue with my unposted entries.

If someone ever finds this blog, I hope you are having a good day.