IT IS NOT THE COCKROACHES THAT SCARE ME
Written by Ashvinder Kaur. Images via Unsplash.
Photo by Jesper Aggergaard.
Yesterday my mother walked up to me with an envelope. In it, was my aunt’s death certificate from 30 years ago. I do not think my parents remembered they even had it, so obviously, it was the first time that I was seeing it. It was a simple, old piece of paper, quite surprisingly unwrinkled, the print clear, but my eyes were drawn to the most important words.
Age: 34 years old.
My aunt, my mother tells me, wanted to name me Asha. A simple, 4 letter word that means hope. This name did not get selected, but my mother says my aunt still used to call me Asha, and over the years, Ashvinder was shortened to Ashvin – which soon became Ash. Although I have heard this story growing up, it is only recently that I’ve begun to use this name, occasionally but very consciously. What a great way to think about this aunt of mine – this young woman who is beautiful in photos, who everyone says had a heart of gold, but whom I never got to know or speak to, who died when I was just a baby. I think about her and this name a lot now, when it seems most needed. Hope.
Photo by Ryan Franco.
When I saw the brief for this issue on Fear, "Whether it’s social situations, fucking things up, letting people down, losing loved ones, living with regret or flying cockroaches..." I told the editor-in-chief, “Guess what, that’s all me except — and this may shock you — the flying cockroaches.” Because seemingly scary things like cockroaches or snakes may sometimes be less scary — or not scary at all — compared to something like letting people down, heartbreak, losing someone, or worse: losing oneself. And if that isn’t the lesson I (and perhaps some of you, too) have learnt along the way — growing older and growing up — then I don’t know what is.
Speaking of fear, this whole year has probably been the epitome of fear and worry and sadness. We are in our second lockdown at the time of writing this, and I come across Buzzfeed posts about items to help with being in quarantine, lists to help with anxiety and stress, social media posts about affordable counselling and lastly, the promo for the latest episode of The Good Doctor coming up – about the virus. It comforts me to no end that others feel the same way I do, and that for once it seems acceptable to be scared.
And being in this bubble, I think about:
a) how comforting it is that we (can) talk about how we’re doing emotionally;
b) how lucky I am to be sheltering in place with loved ones; and
c) how afraid I have been since March.
If I’m being honest, the things that terrify me most at this moment are my parents or grandparents catching the virus (and more horribly if I infect them with it); the fact that this new normal – without meeting, and worse, without touching each other — will last a long time; and of course, the Uncertainty of it all.
Photo by Motoki Tonn.
This second lockdown has certainly put things in perspective for me, leading to the writing of this article. I now realise that after a few months of being in this uncertain situation, I am very good at answering my phone or phoning people back. I used to dread phone calls, I still do – a quick text is so much simpler in most cases – but now, I call back immediately. Even more surprising, I make phone calls. I do not fully understand how this has happened, except perhaps that the uncomfortable act of the unknown, which used to lie in the task of answering the phone, has now been reduced to a simple set of actions — click the green icon. Answer. Say hello.
And yet, navigating adulthood, I have probably failed to prepare for some things. One of these is how to deal with fear — fear that is not from flying cockroaches (or in my case, from geckos in my rental). Those are very literal, easy fears to deal with — just grab a newspaper or broom or container and send the pests on their merry way.
No, I mean the real fear, which is like the corona virus lipid bilayer envelope around which the smaller fears, like the little protein spikes, are nicely arranged. That fear. Now is the time for you to think about all your biggest fears.
And because poems so eloquently and precisely tell you what one cannot; here is an excerpt from Mary Oliver’s poem “When Death Comes,” helping me out:
“When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world. ”
My biggest fear is not that of dying, but that of not living. Not just living, but also leaving behind a legacy. This fear properly emerged once I officially started my adult life (sometime after my first few paychecks). But I really started to wonder about my own legacy when Sridevi, an actor who has done hundreds of films in multiple languages, died a few years ago. Her death was the thing that made me stop and think: If I die tomorrow, what do I leave behind?
I would love to leave having made hundreds of films. I would love to leave having written many, many books. I would love to leave having fought an important fight or won a great battle.
But now, I realise, I simply want to leave behind a legacy of love. Because this year, through the tears and the anxiety and the fears and the uncertainties, and the poems and the songs and the films and the prayers to help us through, it is dawning upon me that maybe the cure for fear is not courage. It is love.
Photo by Brandi Ibrao.
Being courageous must stem from somewhere. And having spent many years being afraid, the courage, for me, could not come from within. How could it, when the inside was filled with insecurities? Perhaps just the first step of accepting that I was afraid to allow love into my life, and afraid to love freely in return, helped to break through that first wall. This was only helped greatly by the people on the other side of the wall, the fact that there was love coming through by people expressing themselves to me. Friends, family and loved ones, showing me that they cared, they were listening, and that I was allowed to share both my happiness and sadness, anger and pain with them. Now, we have peeled off the first layer. And by allowing love to flow both ways, what do you know? That hopeful person slowly peeks through.
Love has filled the space that used to be reserved for fear, transformed into hope. Asha starts emerging. She now dares again to make suggestions, feel hopeful, express herself more. And best of all, she laughs. Yes, even while chasing that flying cockroach. After all, what’s one cockroach in the grand scheme of things!
Photo by Fabrizio Verrecchia.
And the fear? It is still there. But now, when I feel afraid, I remember that there are people who love me and whom I love very much in return. And I always, always remember that someone named me hope. This shield of love becomes the essence for the bravery and courage I need, and increasingly, the courage starts coming from within. If the world ended tomorrow, I would regret not telling someone I love them, or how much they mean to me. Being named hope means I have a duty to give others hope too. Hope and joy and all else that I can and have to give.
And to others like me, who may be feeling stuck or afraid; listen to what Maggie Smith has to say:
“Live with your fear, not inside it.
Do not mistake permission
to feel afraid in times of flux
as permission to cower.
Stand up. Uncover your eyes. ”
Uncover your eyes. Now you see, cockroaches are easy. It is not the cockroaches that scare me.
