Real men don’t cry. I have seen my father cry, so this is obviously a false narrative. I, on the other hand, cannot shed a tear. Not that I don’t purposely, it’s just that I can’t. This does not make me more of a man, more masculine as compared to my other friends, this makes me weak. Absolutely and utterly weak.
I have had enough reasons to cry. I have seen deaths of many people whom I and my family loved. My grandmother died almost two decades ago. I was as tiny as one could be, but I remember the day as vividly as one could. Everyone cried that day but me, because I couldn’t understand a thing.
It isn’t that I was born without tears.
A decade later when my grandfather passed away, I cried. A few days later, I again had a break down of sorts in the school when a classmate asked me why I had been absent for so many days.
That was the last time I cried in agony.
I was still in school when I cried again. My father was not happy with my barely positive report card and refused to sign on it. I cried myself to sleep because I had to submit the report card the next day.
That was the last time I cried in fear.
I have seen failure up close. In the last half a decade, my life has changed in unprecedented ways. That day, I was at the top of my education-career. The next day, I was at the bottom. Even lower the next day, and more low the day after. Before I understood what was happening, I was so underneath that it was impossible to rise again.
That one day, I wanted to cry.
I could not.
I love nights; they give me the freedom to be myself, or what I want myself to be. Unlike many, my present haunts me more than my past. Thus I use the liberties of nights to travel back and forth in time, to keep away from the realities of the present.
But many a night, I feel vulnerable. I try a lot to get some millilitres of water out of my eyes, but I fail. Crying helps ease the distress, but when you can’t cry, there are not many options left.
Dhoni’s defining moment was when he decided to jump onto that train. My defining moment would be when I chose not to jump.
Standing in my dinning room, I looked through the balcony’s door and I saw bright sunlight. At that moment I felt that I was standing in a dark cave, and the door was a tunnel with light on the other side. I was tempted to take the tunnel and follow the light. Something stopped me.
Life is not a film, but do I wish it were. Things change for good with relative ease in films. It is difficult otherwise. I don’t know if my moment will be as defining as it was for him, or if it is really what defines me. I like to believe it does, perhaps that’s what matters.
I need many things, but there is only one thing I yearn for. Someday, I want to cry. I want to bawl like the baby I once was.