Introverted Insomniac

THE INTROVERTED INSOMNIAC Chapter: 2

Ten years ago. Two years had passed. Two years of hearing fascinating tales of heteroclite ideologies. The world wasn't forging ahead quite as fast as their minds. Their views were considered too modern and that led to a stigma. Of isolation. Of being an introvert. After all it was far better to spend time alone than to be ridiculed for ideas that seemed too absurd back then.

The boy was considered an anomaly too. There was a strange connection between them. They were far too naïve to understand it yet although they did think quite maturely. But what good would this story be without a little spice right. There were all the usual emotions of frustration. Rage. Jealousy. Stolen glances. From both sides. Yet there was also a strange obliviousness towards each other. For all their abilities to consider multiple perspectives and supposedly eccentric beliefs they weren't quite fortunate enough to see each other's emotions.

But aren't we all a bit emotionally handicapped. Or rather emotionally constipated. We just can't seem to get it out. Told you they were no different.

The stories seemed to take on a life of their own. They were a living breathing enigma existing solely in those young minds. Fed by the teller's graphic tales. Of courage. Of splendor. Of will. It was his interminable efforts that resulted in their then unfathomable mindsets. It was almost as if their insomnia was a gift rather than a curse. The girl's parents often worried for society had labelled their child as peculiar.

Little did they know of the child's imagination. Their veracity. There were no bounds to their mind. It soared over uncharted lands. Conquered quests of unimaginable consequence.

Faced with something new, society is hostile. It isn't open to change. In perceptions. In views. There are people who prefer to stay in their own little world oblivious to the great modifications occurring elsewhere. These children were not those people.

These children were open. To change. To questions and to all sorts of beliefs for in their mind, questions give us power. From questions arise the need to know more and from we there we learn. Not only about the world but also the part we play in it. About our ability and out position in this multifaceted universe. That may seem so convoluted on the outside yet runs so simply and smoothly.

The stories of lands with fragrant sands. Of spices and exotic articles. Of gunslingers and the old west. That led to shaping the world as it is today caused them to ponder their own identity. Their place.

Coming back. Ten years ago.

They sat together in the playground not far from the teller's house. They had managed to coax him out of his solitary existence. This time he asked them to tell him a story. On any subject they pleased. The girl looked at the boy expectantly. Urging him to tell the man the story he had told her.

He simply shook his head shyly. They may be wise beyond their years, yet issues of self-confidence affected them all the same.

Seeing his reluctance, she began. Her voice rang out and they were all captivated. Interested? Well then shall I share?

The story goes something like this,

There was a girl and there was a boy. They weren't that old. Young enough to be called children but mature enough to be called adults. They used to meet under the birch tree at the corner of the street. They would sit for what seemed like eternity. They never ran out of topics to talk about. They discussed everything under the sun. It was an uninhibited sort of friendship.

But all good things come to an end. The girl moved away and the boy despaired. He spent his days with the hope that he would find her. When he came of age he travelled far and wide. Looking for the girl under the birch tree.

He succeeded in his hunt and yet he did not. For what he discovered was what he had feared losing. She had changed. She had been influenced. Although he couldn't really blame her. It was bound to happen. He wasn't discouraged though. He cherished the moments they had spent together. He had found someone who shared his notions for however long. He didn't mourn over what was lost.

There was no use. In this world we may not always find that person. According to Greek mythology humans were created with four arms, four legs, four eyes and such. Zeus feared their power and split them in half. Condemning them to spend their lives searching for the other. But what if they slip away right when you had them? What if you never found them? They could be riding the subway with you. Or sitting in the restaurant at the next table. Or may even be on the other side of the world. It seems so implausible that we would ever find them.

Yet this man found his. And she slipped away. And yet he didn't despair. For what reason? It seems beyond our comprehension. However, it is simple.

He cherished the version he had of her in his head. A version which was simple, innocent, not exposed to the world's cruel jokes. And that was the version that would never fade away. We cannot change a person or transform them back. It is beyond our power. The world is fleeting as are the people in it. We cannot hold on too tight for the fear that they might change. We can just ride along the waves occasionally putting our foot down and realizing its uselessness all over again.

Stopping change in a person is like trying to protect yourself from a tsunami with an umbrella. It's time we realize that. All great stories of love and war were started and ended with the dawn of an epiphany. We do not have the authority to stop the change. Either we accept it or we lose them. For when losing them isn't an option we have no sway. We cannot anguish over change. There is no use.

Our girl had managed to shock them into silence. She quite enjoyed that.

The teller and the boy were silent, contemplative almost. They recognized parts of their personality in her story. Their stubbornness, their resistance. Her habit of simply riding with the waves of change. There they had another major lining unwind within themselves. This was when they accepted change and yet questioned it as well. For acceptance didn't mean blind following. It meant the willingness to find out why. To find the reason behind.

And they never stopped questioning why. They lost sleep questioning but they did not mind for they enriched themselves in the process. The introverts had minds louder than ours. And they longed to share. But nothings that easy, is it? Their insomnia showed them worlds much more ingenious than ours. This was the world of the introverted insomniac. Rich, fantastic, yet muted.

When we ridicule something enough it shrinks, withers and dies. I hope that doesn't happen to our girl. Or Roy for that matter. We shall see. Perhaps it may not. But then again, I can't tell the future, can I?

|