Boxed Up

Someone recently accused me that I box up people too much. At first, I denied the claim, as is my habit of denying any absurdity pointing towards me. But then I thought more on the subject, and here is what I found out.

Boxing up or labeling is what we do from the moment we are born. The minute a child is born, a gender gets assigned to it. Isn’t gender a type of boxing up. Children are reared differently, how subtle that difference maybe, but there is a difference for sure. Then how we teach relationship to a child is also boxing up. We tell them who is a confidant and who is not, whom to open up and whom to not to. We tell them whom to consider their family and who is friends, and who is a stranger. Of course, all this is done to ensure the child’s safety to protect them from the wild wild world. But today, I am not concerned about it; my concern is about labels. We are taught to label people in our life, Period.

Most of you will be rolling your eyes at me, but wait till you fully hear me out. Do you have a friend? Then welcome to this another analysis. How many friends do you have? A lot? But how many of them are real friends? Whom will you call up in an emergency? Who will surely turn up at your door? And more importantly, which friend of yours will be best to deal with you in the situation of crisis. Did names pop up in your brain? Good, then look at the next line carefully.

Best Friend, Close Friend, Fast Friends, and acquaintance- You must have seen these tags on social media platforms. Now each person who came to your mind in my above questions should be given a mentioned tag.
Did you do that? If not, please do; it will help you understand more about yourself. I am assuming by now you have put these friends in each category. Congratulations, you have successfully done the boxing up.

I am not here to judge you or moralize you. I am here to show you that the human brain is accustomed to boxing up. When you claim someone to be your best friend, you have put a label on them. All other friends who will come after that person in your life will have to measure up to that set criteria. Sometimes a new person will exceed the set standards; then, you are bound to pass on the sash to this new person. And that’s how the circle of labeling goes on.

The labeling is vital for your wellbeing. Each person is bound to have boundaries, and you shouldn’t be allowing everyone to enter into your life. The walls are created for your protection; that’s a human survival instinct. You need to protect your mind and heart from unnecessary trouble. Of course, even with so much precaution, you are bound to have some bad experiences, and they will make you notch up your walls, and that’s ok. It’s ok to have high walls, it’s ok to distrust people, but then the point comes to what extent? To what extent your walls protect you? To what extent the labeling is not robbing you of better experiences? Confused, I am too, but then we have to set boundaries on labeling again.

There will come people in your life who will not fit into one label. There can be someone who opens up some part of you creatively, but they won’t be available when you need them the most. They might be the one who knows most intimate details about your soul, but they might not want to be part of your life or maybe they can’t. Yet you keep them close and remain agitated because that particular person or relation can’t be boxed up.

The funny thing is you are boxing up your love too. When you love someone, you box them in the category of a lover. Each lover you will ever have will go to that box. Whether you like it or not, your mind has done it every time for you, even without asking.

So my conclusion on the accusation is, Yes, I box up people. Boxing has kept my soul intact and my mind sane. I am a high-walled person, and I like being that person.

For you, my reader, your experiences are your treasure. Never let anyone take away that from you. If they want to prove your experiences wrong, they should provide you with better experiences rather than telling you that you rely too much upon your experiences.

PS: You are free to give me your opinions? I am open to hearing you out.

The Red Gift

There it was, in the open, lying, in front of his blue gate, on a golden box covered with a red silk cloth. A simple yellow stick note slipped under the box. The light from the full moon was making the box and its content glitter. All that was glittering wasn’t gold but was far more precious than everything he ever possessed.

He never knew there would come a day where something that he has chased for so long would be lying at his doorsteps, for his to keep, for a, forever. And now when it was so near, he was afraid to go near it. A surge of sudden fear uproared making him apprehensive, and he felt as if his mere touch would make it vanish away. The disquiet of the night led him to think that all that was happening wasn’t right. Somehow he was questioning himself again and again whether the bestowed gift wasn’t his to behold?

He knew that someone has given up everything to bring it up to him. Someone has crossed oceans and boundaries to serve it to him on a golden box. Someone has given up thyself, for thou were the Thee. The musings of his mind won’t settle down, and they were keeping him away from his long-cherished path.

The zephyr holding the fragrance of what lay in the wrapped cloth, tantalizing his senses, to look beyond his vision. His eyes fell on the stick note, with crabbed writing in red, saying,

“The gift is yours to behold, do what you think fitful.”

The words pierced his soul, subsiding every dilemma of his heart and mind. He sauntered towards the golden gift with the glistening eyes. With trepidation, he picked up the golden box, looking again at the scribbled words, touching them with his fingers and savoring them, giving delight to his soul. And then he unraveled the red cloth, holding the most precious gift of his lifetime, her HEART.

“In your light, I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest where no-one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art.”  ―  Rumi