I woke up with an unfamiliar feeling that gnawed at me. I slowly recognised it as resentment. Unfamiliar because I, consciously or unconsciously, I have practised not to look back unless the memories are happy ones, or not to look too far ahead for a future that is uncertain, even imaginary. This has helped me minimise feelings of regret or fear. Even desire. I avoid language like “if only”, “I wish”, “should’ve”, “shouldn’t have:, “could’ve”, etc. But now there was another feeling even more toxic I was experiencing – self pity. I felt a rush of resentment for the fatigue and the loss of freedom that comes with being a 24/7 carer. I had taken this responsibility willingly ignoring all warnings from medical and family people, and would have it no other way. And here I was a year or so later, feeling trapped and looking back at the person I used to be, a busy and satisfied career woman living her passion of travelling and teaching around the world. I used to be in six countries in any given year, and one year not so long ago in four continents. Here I was not even able to leave my home overnight. I missed the travel, the work, the meeting people, the money and the freedom so much.
I went through the day doing all I did every day, feeling sorry for myself and a little angry at I don’t know who or what. Never at my husband. Never. But fate, destiny, chance, whatever.
At night, I went to bed carrying the feeling of exhaustion, self-pity and disquiet. That night it rained. No, it poured. The strong gusts of wind blew the heavy rains almost side-wards, horizontal. My thoughts shifted. I thought of the street children my husband and I have taught, befriended, loved. They live in plastic shacks close to our condominium. I knew the rain water would flood their little temporary shacks and soak their belongings, and them too perhaps. They had no generator! So they’d be there in the dark with a few lanterns which would probably blow out. I imagined what these children in the dark and the damp, who perhaps had school and even tests the next day were experiencing. Usually, when we are with them, all we see is their smiles. They have taught us to smile.
Suddenly, I felt a sense of shame and guilt. Here I was, snug in my warm and safe bed, the right side of the window, with the almost comforting sound of rain on the outside. My husband was alive and getting better against all odds. He, who had lost the power of speech, the ability to swallow and to move, had defied medical expectations. He could eat everything, speak well enough and walk with a little support. At his age and with his massive stroke, we had been warned not to expect much change. Not after six months. It was over a year, and he continues to improve every day – incrementally but it adds up. I have a team of four people, the wonderful Shoba who keeps my house ship shape, the lovely Raju who cares for my husband, our driver, Shantu, who has promised to dash to us even in the middle of the night if there is an emergency, and the therapist, Dr Anish, whom I owe so much to. So, what was I complaining about?! I was so incredibly fortunate. I’ve heard some people tell me comparisons with others who have got it worse do not make their problems go away. True. Thinking of others who have it so much worse, like the asylum seekers, the children, on the boats tossed in uncertain waters, may not minimise our problem. It certainly helps us see it in the right perspective.
That night I went to sleep feeling very differently from when I woke up. My heart was filled with gratitude for all that I am blessed with, and I found myself breathing: “Thank you!”.
This year, I will not make resolutions. To repeatedly re-solve will not solve the same old problems. How about we change the word resolutions to evolutions? If we continue to evolve, we are happier and spread happiness too. One simple way is to understand that our feelings – be they of fear, jealousy, anger, excitement etc – are caused by our thoughts. We have the ability to control our thoughts. We may have no control on any others or circumstance. But we do have control on how we choose to respond. So let us choose our thoughts wisely. If I focus on what my husband and I lost, we are miserable. If we focus on what we have, we are happy. I choose to focus on the latter because happiness is a choice.