You ask for happiness, it makes you contented. I ask for pain – it gives me motion, it gives direction, it keeps me dreaming. It gives me a reason. I live life more intensely.
Don’t you ever face wreckage, an accident, an adversity, a jolt? Don’t you meet any challenge? Don’t you ever have a trauma? Doesn’t it change you? Doesn’t it transform you?
What makes me not to believe in contentedness is my strongest belief. It pushes into my system a lot of awe, a lot of inquisitiveness, a lot of curiosity, a lot of action, a lot of dynamism, a lot of options, a lot of possibilities, a lot of probabilities, a lot of game. It fills me with the thrill of life, with agility, with a magical way of living and looking at life. And this is where my awe and my realisation meet.
Also Read: Monologue 1: Things Fall Apart
Also Read: Monologue 2: Of Human Bondage
I search for a meaning. I am not complete. My search is a relentless struggle for perfection. I walk, I stumble, I perspire, I fly, I fall, I break, I wreck, I tear, I bleed, I shatter, I gather, I stitch, I repair, I heal, I rest, I take a deep breath and I keep moving.
And my imperfections make my inner quest seem more prudent, more sensible. I am imperfect; hence it is apt for me to look for attainment of perfection.
My asking for pain is my strength. My imperfection is not my shame, it’s my pride. Do you know: the stronger that one is, is more brittle! And being brittle is delicate. It’s being more sensitive, more responsive, more catalytic, more absorptive, more receptive and most importantly all pervasive.
When I fall and shatter into pieces I see stars and sky. I embrace earth through my fragments; I seek light through my cracks. This fragility is my strength. This fragility is my beauty. And I embrace my imperfections with honour.
Also Read: Monologue 3: Into The Heart Of Darkness
Also Read: Monologue 4: The Myth Of Sisyphus
Yes, my broken parts, my torn shirt, my shattered life, will assume an aesthetic delicacy when I myself learn to look at my plastered cracks, my stitched shirt, my glued pieces, my gathered life the way one looks at a warrior’s ravaged training ground, a farmer’s ploughed field, a chemist’s stinking laboratory, an artist’s dirty studio, and an artisan’s muddy wheel.
Unless we learn to consolidate the spoils of our own battle it will become vague and worthless. Your wounds, your scars , your burns, your injuries, your heartbreaks, your losses are all proof that you have suffered, you have struggled, you have striven, that you are strong and that you have not lived your life in vain; that you deserve a good life.
So embrace your fragility, your deformity, your defects, your scars, your repairs and your reconstructions with dignity so that they come to be recognised as indelible stories of your making and becoming.
Also Read: Monologue 5: The Unbearable Lightness Of Being
(This is the sixth article of the series titled Monologue)
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