Skip to main content

Reminiscing Regrets

We were all given a rectangular piece of paper, about the size of my palm, and a pencil. The task was seemingly straightforward.  On that piece of paper, write down the biggest regret we held.

It did not end up as easy as I thought. Of late, after a passage I had come across in a book, which dismissed regrets as pointless, as what had happened was divine fate and therefore beyond one's control, I had personally seen a dramatic decrease in the number of regrets over my past actions. Not that I did not make mistakes. Like every other human, I had made many, and will continue to make many, but mistakes were no cause for regret. Rather, it was providence to prevent repeating it. Subsequently, all my past personal failures, from the lack of effort I put in for my PSLE, the travel experiences I had skipped as superficial, the romantic relationships I had unambitiously not pursued or dismissed when they did come my way and the potential I had failed to maximise, did not hurt that much.

Though something else did. "Being a poor brother to my sisters', I eventually wrote. Sibling rivalry is common within families and when my sisters were born, I was resentful of the attention that was removed from me. This resentment took a very long time to subside, something which I did regret given that because of it, I had little worth remembering of a time when my sisters were young, adorable and totally devoted to me. Likewise, another incident, when another good friend of mine had once asked me for help, a very simple one in the form of needing me to be a demonstrator for his invention at a competition. I had turned down his request for help out of laziness.

In both cases, I noted a pattern of regret arising from not reciprocating loyalty, from not showing the commitment that the relationship deserved. The regret was not a failure in personal achievement but my failure to reward good with good. So I write this because I am afraid I see myself making the same mistakes again. Unlike mistakes of youth, consequences of decisions, made at a time when one takes oneself to be wise enough to make the right decision, are more dire. And the regrets, more painful and long lasting.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Fool's Pride

I was rolling up the sleeve of my uniform, preparing for a call up that might never come, when I realised that somehow I was overcome by a strange sense of pride, a pride that wanted the length of my sleeve to be precise as I have always pictured in my mind. Any longer, I would look shabby. Any shorter, I would look amateur. Then I donned the green, tightened the velcro around my waist and looked in the mirror. It was just like before and the memories started flooding me. I never really liked it when I donned it for 2 years in a row. Then I was in a place where I detested the culture, the harsh discipline, the unreasonable demands and the lack of purpose in everything I did. But now that it was over, when I look back, it was perhaps the greatest time of my life. The suffering, the digging, the starving, the cold, the banter, the rowdiness, the jungle, the marches,the mountains, the food, the stories, the friendships, it was all worth the 2 years. A girl friend of mine once asked...

Marriage and All That : Part 2

"How about I get married?" "Are you serious?" "Yea" "No really. If you are serious, I can start looking for one" "Uhh....Nah. I was just kidding" After a while, she stopped asking me if I were serious. Instead, she would laugh it off every time I suggested it, which was the original intention of my question. For me it was just comic relief, this idea of marriage that parents back in India would pester their children with once they reached just about where I was right now; young, working with a steady income and of totally no use at home. Though when she did ask me if I was serious, I do remember feeling a palpitation in my heart, the kind one gets when having to make a yuge decision (#trump2016 #makeamericagreatagain), knowing very well that she, along with an army of aunts, waited for my green light to start searching for a bride for the most promising of their nephews. A NRI (non residential Indian used to refer to the ...

6:15 on Hardy Toll

My left hand lies curled in a tight fist between my thighs, while the right presses stiffly against the coarse leather of the steering wheel, bearing the burden of the task. Though to call it a burden would be an overstatement of an activity that once gave me a sleepless 23 hour flight but now bordered on mindlessness. Now, being on the that road, at that time, when even the sun was too lazy to rise from its sleep, was second nature to me. Thoughts raced through my mind, thoughts about the destination I was headed to. The bulk of them recollected old frustrations and the remainder imagined new ones. My left fist curl tighter as I sped ahead in the air conditioned cocoon. I try to keep to the right of the two lanes as I drove, quasi subconsciously,  at 60 miles per hour on a a 65 mile per hour lane, which still had an additional legally tolerable 10 mile per hour buffer. Lost in my unending imaginings, I stay at that speed until an even slower traveler in front jerk me i...