Tell Your Story Spring 2022 Writing Contest — 2nd Place
Why Do I Still Care?
Into the minglings of the clouds and trees.
After years of forged stability, I finally moved to a new place with my mind overflowing with anticipations and expectations of adventures. I did all that a human brimming with excitation would do. I caught the earliest train and reached the lodgings before many others. Still, a few beat me in the pursuit of wandering through the new premises. Nevertheless, my enthusiasm was undeterred. I found my room convenient for a five-year stay and the surroundings a blessing of mother nature. And thus, I began rooting myself into the unknown soil amidst the glorious serene environment.
I decorated my room with tiny lights and wall stickers. I made friends in the neighbourhood and around. Even though I knew I would have to leave one day, I started to forge stability again through morning walking routines and evening snacking. I adored the space when the little lights faintly flooded the room at night and caressed the quirky owls on the walls. I loved my room when it invited rain and thunder through the balcony and when it accompanied conversations way beyond our comprehension. My roots went a little deep with every passing moment, and I grew a little taller and greener — a little observing and friendly.
Soon seasons started to alter. At one time, the unbearable heat tortured us, and at another, the rain gifted our minds the aesthetic peace that we needed. Forced meaningful conversations turned into comfortable meaningless chatter. We began to reveal those unapparent parts of our personas. We began to confess, emote, and laugh. I enjoyed navigating through the tough soils and spreading enormously towards the expansive skies. But more, I tried to befriend the careless, floating clouds. They ignited a sense of curiosity in me.
The people closely around me seemed oblivious to what mattered greatly to me. They appeared breezy, light like a cloud does but burdened with the task and ability to transform and pour. Alas, they weren’t rooted and tended to move on quickly if a mishap occurred. I, on the contrary, aimed to appear as I was. This often landed me in trouble, especially when a crisis happened. I was often left all alone due to reasons I could not articulate. Was it because I pretended I could handle everything or didn’t deserve support? Was it because I pretended to be happy about my deep roots or because I was immobile and didn’t deserve imagining flying across the sky? I don’t know.
Even though I was left a solitary walker during major crises, I was tended to immensely during the times of frivolous ones. This altered my perceptions and shrouded the apparent mismatch between me and the clouds. I perceived unbreakable and long-lasting bonds. I perceived trees on high hilltops, often convening with the nomadic clouds and illustrating a magnificent picture. And thus, I began to attempt to bridge the distance between my branches and the floating clouds. I tried reaching as high as I could, but I forgot that I was growing deeper at the same time. My roots continued to create a latticed connection underneath.
As the seasons altered, so did the circumstances. In some, we depicted a great sense of camaraderie, and in others, we hurt each other beyond repair. I wrongly perceived I could perpetually mend the breaks and the knots. I couldn’t. I was tired and shaken by the gusty winds. But the same winds guided the clouds to go a different way. And so, they did. All my efforts at bridging failed spectacularly. I was left behind like many times before, and since my roots run deep, I couldn’t help but overthink how things could have been better.
I lamented incessantly and wished with all my heart to be a cloud. I wanted to wander and deceive. I wanted to overlook and overcome quickly. But I was rooted, and I took an extra lot of time unravelling the latticed connections. It took me a while to understand what happened. I realised that I wasn’t what I pretended to be. Even though I adored the clouds, I realised I couldn’t be one among them. But most importantly, I realised that I had merits of my own. And my realisations were bolstered when I met other elements in the neighbourhood. The trees, the sun, and the birds. They had watched me through the struggles from a distance and helped me through the difficult transcending process.
It is not that I don’t interact with the clouds now. The only difference is that I don’t try to be one among them anymore. I appreciate them from the ground and make small talk whenever they pass by. Sometimes conversations take an unexpected turn, and I find myself bridging the gaps again. It’s the roots that play old memories and incite affectionate feelings. It’s the roots that trigger me to care all over again. It’s the roots that make me suffer now and then.
But with time, it has become easy to pull myself out at an appropriate time without offending and still caring. I remember what they can’t do. It’s the roots that remind me to care but also my efforts and everything else. It’s the roots that help me overcome, though slowly, but transcendingly. It’s the roots that make me feel profoundly but also grow perpetually.
