#4: Letters to Sylvia Plath

Did you have a lot of friends, Sylvia? People who could console you on a bad day, people you could share everything with? Or was writing the only solace in your life? Was it only through writing that you could sort your life? Like for me, when I write down a problem, it becomes something real, like a real flesh animal that I need to tame. Writing helps me translate my problems from abstract to something tangible, something that is figureoutable. I write to understand the meaning of life, to decipher what I am feeling. I write on happy days so I have something to turn to on a sad day. I write on a sad day so I don’t feel too subdued by the pain. I write it down and it becomes okay, you know. It’s not a panacea, it doesn’t solve the problem. But it shrinks the size of the monster, it gives me courage to fight it till the end.

But I am not so courageous all the time. Sometimes when I fall down, I can’t get up. Sometimes I stay down for a long time. But eventually someone comes along, some friend, known or unknown, a confidant or a stranger, and they help me back on my feet. They pull me up, help me brush off the dirt, and tell me to carry on, to not stop till I am done.

We humans need humans like these. People who become heroes, people who have the kind of strength to have it all together. And no one, not one person is a full fledged hero. No single person can have life constantly pulled together. But on certain days, when some people break themselves, others might get stronger and wiser. It is on occasions like these, that the wiser person should help the broken one. It’s during times like these, the stronger person needs to step up for the weaker one.

Humans have been called social animals, and quite rightly so. We always need someone else to share our pain, our laughter, our irritation, our gratitude and sometimes we just need an assurance that we are not alone. That if we turn around right now, we will find our own cheering squad, people who are determined to see us win at life. Without these people, we all tend to break a little more, and hurt a little more. And to think all this could be avoided if we only trusted someone else enough to confide in them and just help each other out a little.

How many people have you looked at but never seen? How many people do you know, but not truly know them?  How many times did you take a chance, leapt up, crawled over the walls of your own heart for someone else’s welfare? According to me, that is real courage. To put someone else’s welfare above yours. Not many of us do that. It’s a real tragedy, I tell you.

I want to believe that despite how you felt on a bad day, or on a better one , you were lucky enough to have a friend. I want to believe that when someone else fell, you were there for them, in whatever capacity. I don’t want to believe you were just another member of an ignorant crowd. I don’t think you were another apathetic person. People like us who have so much hurt within our hearts, trapped within its confines, we can’t bear to see more people hurt. No one should. We just need more compassionate people.

At least that’s what I hope, that if I could be someone’s guiding light, then someone else would come along to lessen my burden of a dark, twisted soul. Everyone has a dark side waiting to be loved. Till then, we’re all desperately learning to clap for those parts of ourselves no one else appreciates.

Last edited: May 29, 2015

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