Loss

Somewhere in the deep abyss of the silence that became our lives, I have lost a great many things. Some of these things have been my memories, some have been my successes, some failures, some forgettable decisions, some disappointing epiphanies. I can’t really boast about how much I have traveled, how much I have accomplished or how much I have loved. However, I do have something to say about how much I have lost, and why, this particular peculiarity is perhaps one of my most cherished possessions.

Losing is not failure, nor is it a state of mind. It is rather, a question of choice. That is a rather odd thought, isn’t it? Why would losing ever be someone’s choice. However, when you have really lived and taken risks, loved and hated, been passionate, been kind, been cold, been a monster, been a god, been a man, been a woman, losing becomes you, losing is what defines you. An honest assessment of your life, in front of a broken mirror, will tell you that I am right. It will tell you that what you remember most fondly, even though a little painfully, are the things that you have lost, the people you have let go and the lives you have ruined.

It is difficult to put this feeling into words. It is a haunting and painful rendition of my life, to be measured on the yardstick of loss. However, anything that is honest and remotely resembles the truth, is almost always hurtful. We feel remorse for our failures, we feel ashamed at our awkwardness and we are really let down by the people we had been seen with, a lifetime ago. However, in order to grown,  loss has to be perpetuated and understood, and must never be dismissed as a trifle. I do not advocate that one must completely abdicate any claim to one’s future and continue to live in the past. But our past is always a part of us, a part that reminds us of the pitfalls of adventure, but still encourages to keep going while learning from our mistakes but never to be debilitated by them. It builds character and it builds confidence, and most of all, it builds compassion. Compassion, not to merely be kind to people or always be helpful, but to be free of prejudice and hate

Sometimes we carry around our loss and our past as baggage and the baggage is heavy and it does not allow us to venture freely into the future, towards new endeavors. We bring our baggage to our jobs, our families, our relationships, our dreams and we allow ourselves to be afraid, to be cowed down by that fear until we are comfortable and fetal. I have not written in a while and I was rather afraid to sit down and tackle such a grave and doleful subject, when it isn’t even 8 in the morning yet. However, I wish to be brave, just a little bit, one thing at a time, and I want to lose more and more, be more disappointed, feel hurt, feel angry, upset, sad, suicidal, depressed, for I have been reluctant with them. These particular emotions do not make me weak. Trying not to feel them does.

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