WHERE IT HURTS THE MOST

I remember, when I was in High School, there was one particular teacher who I adored. I would die for his attention, would try to impress upon him always with my best behavior. I would long to receive his attention to me - even a fleeting glance; his little praise would make my day… and, many a times, just his thoughts would make me feel strong, cared for and safe. 

However, meanwhile, a strange thing would happen inside me. Whenever, I did not receive the attention I was longing for, I would feel sad and lost. When he gave too much attention, to someone else, I would feel jealous. And, occasionally, when this teacher – my adorable teacher – said something not nice, even though it was for my good, I would silently resist.

I always come across, every year, a couple young students, both boys and girls, exactly feeling the same way when it comes to me. Because they adore me, they must be craving for my fleeting glance, they must be longing to hear my due compliments… and, because, I am a ‘special’ person in their lives, I must be careful how I discipline them… I must be careful about the choice of my words, my intention, and my feelings towards them.

Just a couple of days ago, a young boy, who was very, very close to me, was sulking. I could sense the sudden resistance and coldness… and, I could also feel the sadness, anger and loneliness underneath the veneer of his present aloofness. For a while, my ‘I am-your-teacher ego’ took the better off me, and, I saw myself ‘preaching’ this sulking young-man Gospels, which, definitely, he least wanted, at that time. And, by giving him those sermons, I was hurting him more… and, he was sulking more, too. Strangely, I found that my own awareness was not enough to help save the particular situation.

It was only the next day, that I took the initiative to make the young man feel alright. All that he wanted was some attention from me, the teacher who he looked up to… and right timings and right words for my advice to him. 

When I got back to him, with my new wisdom, his resistance had simply melted… and, he was back in my fold…

Yes, I was his ‘hero’, once again…

And, he was my ‘beholder’!

We become 

the most vulnerable 

only when 

we love some one…

It, therefore, hurts the most, whenever the hurt comes from our loved ones.

They alone know where it hurts the most... for us.

Yes, Love is Love, because it makes us vulnerable. 

Yes, LOVE, I said!

GERALD D’CUNHA

Pics.: Gloria Pinto