After watching Al-Jazeera’s short docu on Belfast, I have this sudden inexplicable urge to go to Northern Ireland and watch the Irish muralists at work. For now though, I guess I’ll have to settle for having read Angela’s Ashes and explored life in poverty-stricken Limerick ‘where the River Shannon kills’.
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There are times when all I want to do is stand alone at the top of a hill, morning dew at my feet, watch flowers winking in the sun, with hair flying all around my head as the wind whips at my long flowing dress.
There are also times when all I’d fancy is to put on my jeans and jersey, sit at the Kop in Anfield with my mates, cheer on my team loudly, giving wild support and sing ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ till my throat goes dry.
So you see, I’m not that difficult to understand.
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Have you ever looked back at a certain point in time and wished you could have done certain things differently?
I’m not talking about regrets per se.
Or maybe I am, and I don’t want to own up to it.
But then again, regrets really are only lessons in disguise (or so I try to tell myself), even if they can be very painful.
There are some turning points in our lives that occur so surreptitiously that it’s practically impossible to detect the exact whens, the hows and most of all the whys, until it’s too late to go back and try to change things. These are the times when we aren’t able to know the consequences of the decisions that we make, especially when we’re unaware of having made one in the first place. We do so unconsciously, not knowing where to pinpoint that exact defining moment that could have led things to swing one way or the other, contingent upon our choice.
What happens next is that in one instance, it suddenly hits you that things have spiraled downward without you even realising it.
Sometimes, the seemingly miniscule or mundane isn’t as insignificant as we think they are; ironically it is they that set off a chain of unchangeable events that gradually snowball into something completely out of our control. So what’s the use of looking back at a time when we didn’t have the benefit of hindsight? What has happened has happened, and you’re stuck with the reality of what-is, momentarily wishing it was what-might-have-been-had-you-known.
The question that you’re left with at the end of the day is: would I have been this person I am today, knowing both the bitter and sweet, had I known back then what I now know today? The answer is never definite, but I find it always leans towards No. The thing is, I only know what I know today, precisely because I didn’t know it back then. Had I known it back then, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to know it now. It sounds more confusing than it is, but I’m sure you understand what I mean.
I wouldn’t be the same person, because I would’ve chosen not to concede and not to be content with playing the bad guy just because it made things easier for everyone. I would’ve taken different steps so that everyone won, myself included. I would’ve been a bit more fair to myself, to not take everything lying down just because I’m so used to making way and accommodating. I’ve got plenty of would’ves; they’re what I’m left with.
But to have done things that way, I wouldn’t have known what it is to really live and learn. I wouldn’t have understood what it meant to really grow. I wouldn’t have realised that sometimes, it doesn’t always boil down to things you did or didn’t do, that no matter what you decide, there are far greater things at work where you don’t get to choose. So I have my would’ves, but it’s my wouldn’t-haves that actually mean something. It’s my wouldn’t-haves that actually matter.
Once upon a time, I was hurt by a friend, but my hurt was misconstrued as resentment and hate, and it was left at that. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t angry because I was, and for such a long time too. It ate me up inside. But that was before my wouldn’t-haves became apparent, before I understood that this isn’t what I wanted. Today a pang still lingers, and sometimes I still recoil from it. Of course there’s sadness, it never really goes away, but it barely registers now. I’m as conscious of it as I’m conscious of my skin - hardly noticeable, unless pricked.
Beyond everything however, beyond even anger and hurt, I have an overwhelming desire to be free of all this and to just be happy for everyone.
I think I’m almost there. It’d be great if you could help me.
Enough said here.
