Fate decided to start my week off strong with a bad injury case that led to a swelling, bleeding toe, with a broken toenail. This was especially terrifying, given the horror stories of people getting infections left and right from the warm, bacteria-nurturing, tropical climate. But the pain did not just come from my injury, it was also emanating from every social situation that caught my attention - it meant that I was missing out on something, an occasion to connect and be included with the other scholars. This was an especially prominent feeling when I was missing out on a fun excursion to the waterfalls in Fiji.
At once, my injury transformed me into a 5-year-old child, craving acceptance in a circumstance where it felt that I should somehow be included, looking for clues that showed that I was isolated, and being unable to accept loneliness. Fate took the time to curate the perfect lesson, and I was forced to confront my thoughts alone, in bandages.
Was it not tiring? I asked myself. That you have to dart from corner to corner, hoping to please other people, proving something (what was it?) to them, hoping that you would be a part of someone else’s team? Was it not enough to be on your own team?
Is it not sickening to keep track of who you feel includes you and who makes you feel invisible?
I turned to see Waise, the oldest child in our family, and he turned as well. He smiled, “Picnic time?” I had mentioned that I wanted to read outside in the sun. He rushed to the kitchen to grab the coconut leaf mat. Buka, the second child, excitedly followed.
Maybe through hoping that certain other people would see me, I had neglected the people that already did. I wasn’t going to be here for long, I realised. Soon after I leave, these kids will grow up, and this will be the last time I ever get to see them like this. I wonder what they will look like as older children, as teens, and if I can say anything now that will prepare them for what that will look like. Now it was a different kind of FOMO, one that I don’t think I can avoid.
Being in a scholar’s group of 16 people creates a bubble that cued the insecurity of being the outcast, and the constant anxiety of doing something wrong; being in Fiji gave me that quiet space to think about how I’m acting and whether I want this to continue. I have never been great at group settings or speaking out loud in public, but I realised that I had never even admitted this anxiety to myself, constantly pushing myself over and over into social situations with the same anxious mindset that did nothing but fuel my anxiety. Conquering your fears is one thing, throwing yourself mindlessly into the presence of your fear, hoping that it will magically solve itself is another.
Though illogical, I felt as though my injury was a warning sign, an incident that God placed in my path to snap some sense into me. It felt that I was indeed that 5-year-old child, working in social autopilot, and being convinced by every narrative in the room except for my own. I was injured, but maybe it had to happen, so I could finally hear my own voice in a sea of melodies.