There is a beauty in everything.
When I was a little kid, my dad would take me to the park and let me play, freely. While he chat with his brother or hang out on his own, under the tree. He seemed to have a rich inner world where he was content in engaging with his thoughts for hours. At times, I wondered if he was aware of me, tagging along on his path.
And there I was, exploring the world – the playground, joyfully, on my own. The mysterious little girl with a flute, the group of mean kids who dominated the ground, the random stranger who tried to be close and told me weird stories. This is the predicament about being able to roam around without a helicopter parent, there were tremendous pleasure in the random encounters and adventures, yet there were also these hidden danger in the lush green battle ground.
Anyhow, that was my early life and I loved it. I loved being able to run around, explore freely, talk to anyone I wanted to, and played the swing as high as I could. As if I was flying, well, until I literally lost my hold of the handle, and flew across the ground. I hit my head on the concrete. My head was bleeding, hard.
My little mind automatically rehearsed the worst scenario, in preparation of what’s to come- someone calling the ambulance, paramedics got here in lightning speed, being rushed into the emergency room. I guess I do tend to have a vivid, dramatic imagination.
Nevertheless, my act of clumsiness finally caught my dad’s attention. And what happened next was far different than what I imagined. I was told to get up, and walked over to the pharmacy in the neighborhood, where the clerk was asked to disinfect and put a bandaid on my wound. And then, we went home, as if nothing major happened.
I guess from that point on, I got used to trekking the field of life, riding through the ups and downs, and sometimes – enduring the breaking and bleeding of my heart, quietly and gracefully. I continue to live, to perform the daily tasks, to complete my work calmly even when fire is blazing in the background.
Now I realize how powerful a grip this was – the childhood experience. The external mirroring we received from the caretakers, sent a message wired deep into my psyche, influencing the way I treat myself and expect myself to be treated. Until the day comes, when I am finally ready to dig my hand into the clumps of psychic entanglements. Loosening the knots and study attentively and carefully, the wiring – extending and reshaping the twisted part.
And here I learnt, there is a beauty in every thing, in every experience. And there’s a softness to be found in strength and resilient. As if a yellow fuchsia, dancing with the angels, while hanging in the wind.