The Fickleness of Life

Time and again in our lengthy lives, we take a break to ponder upon what is happening with

us. What is really happening with us. Moments that we spend in this particular mindset define

what we think of ourselves. For the short time being that our brain is in this space, we realize

that we are but just a speck in the vastness of the universe, and for a change, not everything is

about us. For someone who was coerced into understanding that thought from a young age,

solely due to my experiences (no external pressure), trying to find a balance in life became

imperative and difficult.

I was never the most likable person in my school. Quite the opposite actually. Due to

differences in opinions, I didn’t make the kinds of friends that people usually make. I don’t

regret any of it. However, as a child, I would hate people not liking me. Everybody does. The

incident that matured me into thinking more like an adult, however, happened on the 14th of

July 2015. I was about to turn thirteen the next day. The excitement was inevitable. However,

right before the last dismissing bell at school rang, I heard that I was left out of another

‘friend’s’ birthday party, which coincidently was on that evening. My heart was crushed. I

knew there wasn’t much that I could do about it but I can still remember the feeling I felt

when the others in the class chattered on about how excited they were and what they were

going to wear.

I hated it. I hated them. And most importantly I hated myself.

I excused myself as soon as the bell rang, running to my car, avoiding the questions asked by

my concerned driver uncle. My sister, studying two grades above me in the same school,

walked in after me. The only thing we talked about that day in the thirty-minute car ride was

exclusion and how bad it made us feel. The four windows of my car, and my sister's

soothing voice through the now obvious tear stains on my cheeks helped me calm down.

By the time we reached our elevator at home, we were both laughing and giggling about how

we would throw an even bigger party at our place for my birthday. We got out of the elevator

one after the other, facing the door that my Dadi left open for us every day at the same time.

Dadi looked a little more tired than usual, her age showing clearly on her beautiful face. We

stood at the door frame getting rid of our canvas school shoes when my mother walked out of

the kitchen. A happier smile made its way to our faces. My mother was a hard worker. She

made sure to run her family smoothly while balancing her government job, something I

always admired about her. My sister and I shot into her arms, faces still smiling.

As I pulled out of the longer-than-expected hug and turned my head to another similar voice.

My father walked out from inside the house. My happiness was evident. Until it wasn’t. My

brain had connected the dots too quickly, a skill that I usually brag about but not today.

Have all of them home together on a random weekday? Almost impossible. While my

sister was still reeling from her happiness, I broke through. “What’s happened?” I asked in an

anxious voice. Their faces fell. We had probably figured it out too soon. Or maybe they

didn’t want to say anything which would have been difficult considering our inquisitiveness

about everything in life.

“Uncle is no more.”

The world around me froze. My mother’s words were strong enough to shake me to my core.

Although not expected, death is always sudden. Specifically of the people, you love the most.

My grandpa had passed away long before my sister’s birth. We knew him from the stories

our father told and continues telling. But the closest thing to my grandfather, my father’s

uncle, was also no more. My heart felt heavy.

I walked to my room. Changing into my home clothes from my normal school uniform. The

silence in the house was deafening. I walked through the house numb to everything,

remembering the moments we had shared together. The one time when we sat on the huge

swing placed perfectly in the yard of his house and talked about how much we loved

chocolate. About how interested he was in always trying out new things. My mind struggled

to piece the memories together, not wanting to lose a single piece of the moments I had spent

with him.

I remember bits and pieces of what happened afterward. Tears were shed. But life slowly

moved on.

What stuck hard, however, was how quickly life had changed at that moment. How quickly I

had grown. How something as minimal as a birthday party plan had changed into something

as grave as death.

Life is fickle. Time and again it has proved to be so. Experiences like these adding up have

led me to question how much of an impact life really has on us.