Happy days are here

The 100 happy days challenge involves a social media user posting a photo on a daily basis of whatever makes them happy (done on the platform of their choice- either Facebook, Instagram or Twitter). The aim of the challenge was to help people appreciate the world around them more than they normally did.

So I was going through my Facebook today while I noticed that a friend of a friend of mine had critiqued the 100 happy days challenge. The criticism that my friend had to offer, in a way, if you thought about it, was sort of justified, but I’d like to say, it has more to do with the person taking the challenge than the challenge itself.

The people who came up with this project have no real benefit if people all over the world take up this exercise. Nobody’s going to get penalized if you drop out midway citing various reasons. The main reason this challenge was formulated, was to remind people that though there is so much that is wrong with the world, there is ultimately a lot to look forward to, a lot to be happy for.

I am taking part in the challenge too. Three days down, and I’m not going to cite miraculous differences in my personality or outlook on life, but every time I reflected on my day, thought of which photo to upload, it automatically made me recall all the good that happened that day [most of which gets conveniently clouded over by what went wrong in the same day] and it made me feel good about myself. When something makes me happy, instead of giving it a brief smile and nod, I revel in it, fully relishing the moment. If that’s not a good thing, I don’t know what is.

So be open… Take the challenge. The folks at 100 happy days would be more than happy to have you participate. They say it’s a life changing project, and that’s the problem. People expect miraculous transformations overnight. They don’t realize that life changing could also happen, one tiny step at a time, but as long as the change is happening and the progress continually moves forward, that’s honestly all that matters.

You can find the challenge at www.100happydays.com . 

Sticks and Stones may break my bones (Part 1)

So I was supposed to be studying on YouTube (Bad idea btw) and I chanced upon a video a classmate had shared on her wall. It was a moving experiment, conducted by a couple of high school students, to see how many people would react to bullying. It shocked me that many people chose to be passive and out of the 15 or so people in front of whom the experiment was conducted, 2 or 3 of them stood up for the victim. If you were to think about that statistically, a chilling 98% of people would choose to be passive while bullying occurs.

Here is the video

Related links to that video, was a TED talk on bullying. Now, I know TED talks face a lot of criticism, but They are a lot more to do with the speaker than the phenomenon of TED themselves... So I'll leave it at that. The speaker for the night was a person I did not know of. He was rotund, had brown hair and a beard and wore glasses. He hunched his shoulders, slouched in his posture, but standing there, he was the bravest man I will have ever seen. He had a way with words that caused me to bawl when he spoke of his experience in high school.

A phrase was repeated in the course of the TED talk- "Kids are cruel."

This was true.

It made me think of my own experience in high school.

When people all around me speak of fond memories of high school, I often listen with a sardonic smile. I do not reply, but I refrain from sharing any. When asked of my memories of school, I reply with a light smile "Too many to think of."

And it was true, in a twisted way.

You see, I was always different. I now realize that I am different in a good way... But at the time, it felt like a punishment that my pen could spin beautiful poems and the most vividly descriptive narratives. It felt like a curse that I did not like talking, simply because it was in my nature. Countless people have made recommendations to my mother that I see a psychiatrist. I suppose the world simply can't stand it when it sees someone who simply does not know how to fit into a cookie cutter and be part of the crowd.

And I tried.

I tried endlessly to fit in but somehow, I just could not. I was different you see. While the world supposedly "welcomes" different for my first school was never quite in the picture. My friends are always people who like to talk simply because they know I like to listen. Different, by the way, always invites bullies.

Now, I must mention at this juncture, that the first school I studied in was a school which was quite classy. Had a good reputation. People at parties would give you respectable nods if you told them you studied in that school; outwardly, there was nothing wrong with it. The students I came in contact with were alarmingly identical to one another, enjoying the same TV shows, scoring good grades, having ambitions of being doctors and engineers and sobbing profusely when they received test scores. I still remember how I would be looked upon like an alien simply because I knew I'd gotten what I deserved where test scores were concerned and I wouldn't antagonize myself over it.

The problem however, is that different always invites bullies.

I still remember in Eighth grade, there was a new girl in my class. I was so intimidated by her. She was thin and cool and had short shiny black hair. She was an ace at sports and had the best grades. She effortlessly made friends. To sum it up, she was everything I wasn't.

But she was also something that I swear to God, I never will be.

I remember this one incident vividly. She asked me to smell my palm to see if there was the smell of Vibuthi (holy ash) on her hand and she just palmed my nose, punching me hard and all her friends around her burst out laughing. I walked away silently, nearly in tears, feeling like an utter idiot so that she would look cool in front of her friends for a few minutes. A few years later, a friend of mine would tell me what a sweetheart that bully was, and how they would all study together. I would never comment. She never bullied anyone else. I was her sole target.

Why didn't I stand up for myself?

I didn't know how to.

I joined school a year early and everyone was older than me. I just felt so scared and intimidated. I had no clear idea of who I was. I took to my pen as refuge. It was my safe tent from the storm. I would churn out poetry that is way more intense than normal "teen angst." As a woman now, I'm not sure if I can produce the same intensity in my poems or my writing again. I was lucky to always have English teachers who saw me for who I really was, and encouraged my talent at the right time. If it weren't for them, my writing would be hidden under my bed and beneath floorboards. Some teachers at my school were and continue to be an inspiration to me to do my best and that anything less is simply unacceptable.

To anyone who is interested, this is Shane Koyczan's TED talk.

In a way, it was my pen that saved me. I have gone to the brink of death and back and have dealt with self harm also. I used to buy a razor blade for 5 rupees and cut and cut because I never felt good enough. I still have the scars on my body. I don't think there will dawn a day where  I will be ashamed of them. I will never ever advocate self harm, because it is the worst thing a person can do to herself/himself and nothing, I repeat my beloved readers. NOTHING IS A GOOD ENOUGH REASON TO INDULGE IN IT. However, I will always be proud of my scars, because they made me who I am today, and they serve me as a constant reminder of what comes out of undermining oneself and one's own attitude.

However... My tryst with bullying did not end there.

Keep watching this space for more