How often do you do things instinctively, listening to your ‘gut feelings’? If you ask me, I don’t think I will have too many occasions to mention, as I am not really an impetuous woman, and don’t follow my heart much. The reason is that I am a bit too conscious of the outcome, and that makes me ignore my heart and ‘listen to my brain’. To put plainly, ‘rational’ thoughts often override the immediate ‘gut feelings’.
There were many occasions in my life, when I really wanted ‘to go with my heart’. But, let me confess that I’ve hardly had the courage for doing that, because, my mind often kept cautioning me about the possible “what ifs” & the probable embarrassing social faux pas that I may face, thus making me choose the ‘cautious’ side, because I really don’t have the courage to make ‘mindful mistakes’. Whenever I want to take-up what my heart says, my head would keep pulling me from behind, and I would start moving to the logic and rationale side, leaving away what my heart’s response. By the time my thoughts move to action, I often end-up thinking more than I should, thus draining away all the energy that I have for the day.
To be frank, being premeditative is not something bad, as it’s always good to look carefully before you leap. But, what’s the fun in conscious decisions and too much calculated actions? I think life is worth taking some ‘small and medium sized’ risks, by trusting my gut feelings and focusing what my mind says, but unfortunately don’t feel courageous enough most of the times. As always, the wise and practical side would overpower the impulsive, reminding me about the possible consequences of my actions.
I am not taking about any of those life changing and life threatening situations, but about the “less dangerous” ones that we face daily, where we can liberally forget our “what if I look foolish” fear. I am waiting for the day my heart would furiously takes the lead against my head, winning at least one match, winning it on a solid grounding, playing a fair game. So when will it be “that day”? I don’t want to get absolutely torn between the head and the heart, as, the ‘sensible side’ is to listen to my heart, whereas the ‘human side’ is to listen to my heart. All I just want is to know how it would be, if I follow my heart.
When it comes to reading my blog, many people have been really ‘generous’ to me, right from the very day I started writing. Be it discrepancies, spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes, or repetition of ideas, they have always taken time to let me know where I’ve wrong, thus helping me make my blog better day by day. But one among the comments that I got last week was a bit too disappointing that it took me no time to trash it from my inbox. With an offensive and sexual undertone, the reader showed me the right example of how people can really stoop down to the lowest level possible, for absolutely no fault of mine. The comment had nothing to do with the post I had written, and was in no way related to the theme of my blog. For a moment, I was a bit upset and heartbroken reading the comment, and the next moment I looked at the hilarious side of it and laughed my head off! A totally ‘non-adult’ & independent post my ‘big-hearted’ reader horny, and that is ‘big’ news for me! I felt I should be really happy about my writing skills, rather than getting upset about a comment from a moron who was busy jacking off, rather than reading my blog.
Be it mine or someone else’s article/blog, reading carefully & commenting on it is something really wonderful, as it helps the writer know how others take-in her ideas, and how she should tailor her ideas and writing style, to make the upcoming posts better and interesting. I’ve always welcomed both good comments and criticisms whole heartedly, and have tried my best to correct myself, and write better posts next time. However, by giving an unrelated, offensive, crude, or vulgar comment, no one would cut a heroic figure, but may rather make a fool of them, with their crude and disrespectful lingo. Comment with dignity & I would love to hear from you all, but don’t stoop down to the level of a gigolo!
I don’t even remember the first time someone took my photograph. I was hardly one year old, and by looking at that photograph now, I am sure that I might have enjoyed the whole session, looking at my dad and smiling at him non-stop. But growing up, I didn’t have much inclination towards camera, and always felt a bit too embarrassed whenever someone took my photo. I couldn’t stand to have my photograph taken, and used to find some really ridiculous measures to avoid it, like crying loudly in public. Call it inferiority complex or lack of confidence, I don’t mind the way you may define my behaviour, but I always used to get literally frozen, the moment I see a camera in front of me, and have broken down to tears on many occasions, in order to avoid photographers, especially in parties and wedding functions. I still remember the day my mom’ sister got married. I think I was about five or six years old then. After a lot of vain efforts, the photographer approached my dad, to help him get a few pictures of mine. Perhaps, he felt that I may happily smile when my dad is around, but I proved him wrong, and cried non-stop for about an hour, and finally, my dad was literally forced to take me out of the venue for some time, in order to pacify me and make me come back to ‘sense’.
After a few years, there were a few more similar attempts from my family and friends, but I literally freaked out at them, growling & shouting my lungs out, because, I knew very well that I would get ‘paralysed’ seeing a camera in-front of me. I guess those were perhaps the last resolute attempts to click my pictures. I think even my dad gave up since then, and never forced me to be a part any photograph. I felt as if I got rid of a really huge problem that I had for such a long time, because, later on, no one even bothered to call me while clicking pictures, as they knew very well that the ‘worst’ would happen if someone tries to take my photographs. My happiness knew no bounds when I successfully got rid of all the possible chances of getting photographed.
After years of dealing with my ‘fear’, I’ve come a long way from the ‘struggling’ childhood days, and have started ‘loving’ cameras. But looking back, I think I can relate my ’fear’ to some of the random comments about my looks, that I used to hear since childhood. A little girl with curly hair, dark complexion, and full lips, I was often called the ‘Afro’ looking. Did that kill my spirits? Not sure! By now, when all my cousins have lots of pictures from the various stages of their life, very neatly arranged in their album, I hardly have a few, to get a recap of the bygone days. Other than the group photographs of school and college days, which I couldn’t avoid, our album will hardly have a very few photographs of mine, because they were all clicked without my notice. Strange, but true! All thanks to my ‘phobia’!