The purpose of having your own space to write is so that you can come out absolutely unfiltered and that process begins with a certain level of honesty. And just as I mentioned that I’ll be honest, I gotta say here that in my life no matter how much ever I want to live sans complaints and grumbles, I’d always end up complaining about one thing or the other.
I must mention here that social media plays a pivotal role behind all of these inspirations — that has majorly to do with likes and comments. The question is, is everyone aware that what we see on social media all the time gets amplified and we do end up either cursing ourselves for not leading a life that perhaps our friend is leading or maybe fretting over not fetching enough reactions on our posts.
Seldom do we realise that we must not have anything to do with what people say about us, rather what’s being projected on social media. Probably, the fact of the matter is that we ourselves do not realise that we are perhaps being puppets in front of our emotions and situations.
Let me refer back to the complaining bit now, where I did mention some times when I actually do complain and perhaps frequently indulge in doing so. Little did I realise that I have no right to complain about my life before I came across this recent book “Man’s Search for Meaning” by Viktor E. Frankl — an outstanding classic from the Holocaust and the tremendous attrocities of the Nazi soldiers.
I had no idea that the prisoners had to walk barefoot on snow, as a result of which their feet would be so swollen that they couldn’t walk any further. Their bodies would be so fragile that even wearing a small size of cloth would look as if it’s hanging from hangers. Every time they’d wake up they wouldn’t be sure if they would meet themselves and their fellows in the evening.
If a single prisoner would be stopped showing feeble signs of weakness, they’d be either led inside the gas chambers or their last traces would be seen in the forms of dust in the sky. Nine people would be sharing the floor under one blanket. In order to clarify, the author mentioned that they’d be sleeping by their sides, so that each one could at least get some share of the blanket.
This got me baffled as I read through every page, and as I ‘d eye through more, I’d be baffled even more, with the experiences getting scarier with each time and with each incident. There is a saying “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger”. I’d wonder whether any of these people that survived the horrible atrocities of the Nazis got any stronger.
Of course they did, otherwise there wouldn’t have been writeups about the holocaust and people wouldn’t have the strength to narrate all that they went through in the concentration camps. I feel goosebumps even when I write this and realise that those poor, innocent people had gone through so much turmoil and they chose to hold on.
So, the next time I spot someone criticising me or my work, or I do find anything up to my standards perhaps, should I be complaining or be thankful?