Friends wonder why I walk home alone at well past midnight. And why I’m not afraid to do so. They’re shocked by the fact that I don’t even mind traveling alone in a Mumbai local train in the dead of night.
They ask me why I do it. Why I don’t just let one of them escort me home. But the thing with me is, I’m just far too used to taking care of myself… because nobody else was around to take care of me.
No no, I’m not about to launch into a tirade of my-parents-ignored-me-I-was-raised-by-wolves-yada-yada Freudian cockamamie nonsense. I was raised by adoring parents, who managed to pamper me without spoiling me (You rock, Mom & Dad!). And albeit ever-concerned, they (thankfully) never stopped me from exploration. I was encouraged to test my own limitations, and they trusted me enough to know that I knew where to draw the line. But that was the bottomline – I was responsible for myself. Dependence on another individual was not exactly frowned upon, but it wasn’t encouraged.
In all honesty, it did sometimes freak my parents out to learn that I had attended a rock concert (the scenario was scary enough for them right there, but of course, I couldn’t possibly leave it at that!) in a fairly distant suburb (see how this gets more interesting?), and returned home alone (the plot thickens…) in a local train (drum roll) at well past the witching hour (ta-daah!) So we reached an agreement of sorts. If I am to pull stunts of the sort, my handbag must always contain a can of Mace (I’ve substituted it with deo – just as effective, and hey, it comes in handy!) and my Swiss Army knife (a gift from my darling Daddy, complete with tips from my cop uncle on how to do the most damage with it – I love my family!)
Yada yada. I’m digressing from the topic.
It isn’t about carrying an armory wherever I go. It never was. It was about gumption. Some people consider it foolhardy, but I’m of the opinion that if you can walk with your head high, without fear, then you’ve tackled anything that might trigger fear at all. Which is not to say that it makes you invincible. But perhaps there’s some truth to the power of suggestion.
Maybe the Universe does conspire to give you what you crave.
In which case... Universe, where's Wentworth Miller already?!
They ask me why I do it. Why I don’t just let one of them escort me home. But the thing with me is, I’m just far too used to taking care of myself… because nobody else was around to take care of me.
No no, I’m not about to launch into a tirade of my-parents-ignored-me-I-was-raised-by-wolves-yada-yada Freudian cockamamie nonsense. I was raised by adoring parents, who managed to pamper me without spoiling me (You rock, Mom & Dad!). And albeit ever-concerned, they (thankfully) never stopped me from exploration. I was encouraged to test my own limitations, and they trusted me enough to know that I knew where to draw the line. But that was the bottomline – I was responsible for myself. Dependence on another individual was not exactly frowned upon, but it wasn’t encouraged.
In all honesty, it did sometimes freak my parents out to learn that I had attended a rock concert (the scenario was scary enough for them right there, but of course, I couldn’t possibly leave it at that!) in a fairly distant suburb (see how this gets more interesting?), and returned home alone (the plot thickens…) in a local train (drum roll) at well past the witching hour (ta-daah!) So we reached an agreement of sorts. If I am to pull stunts of the sort, my handbag must always contain a can of Mace (I’ve substituted it with deo – just as effective, and hey, it comes in handy!) and my Swiss Army knife (a gift from my darling Daddy, complete with tips from my cop uncle on how to do the most damage with it – I love my family!)
Yada yada. I’m digressing from the topic.
It isn’t about carrying an armory wherever I go. It never was. It was about gumption. Some people consider it foolhardy, but I’m of the opinion that if you can walk with your head high, without fear, then you’ve tackled anything that might trigger fear at all. Which is not to say that it makes you invincible. But perhaps there’s some truth to the power of suggestion.
Maybe the Universe does conspire to give you what you crave.
In which case... Universe, where's Wentworth Miller already?!
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