If you were one of the unfortunate few who had a conversation with me in the last year, you probably remember how the theme of my conversation was my Kindergartner's virtual school. You probably got bored over how I complained about the five apps they had to submit their 'asynchronous' work on while quipping about how they could have called it plain old homework and ranting about the American obsession of sounding profound in its nomenclature. I know, it's a bit of an irony coming from the wordy me - this disdaining of using fancy, frilly words in lieu of easy, simple ones. But the point is, I made it loud and clear that I was waiting for this 'virtual' year to end.
Till I discovered otherwise.
It was the last day. And it was finally here. I was doing a "Yippie" inside my head and capturing some memories on my phone while my little tot logged into the final session of her Kindergarten year. Every one of the twenty three tots were ecstatic, screaming in joy about the summer break, about popsicles, visits to cousins and late night movies. Or so I thought. Suddenly I saw little Emma on the screen. Her breaking voice drowned in a bedlam of joy from the other participants. Kind Mrs. K, the class teacher, hushed the rest of them to let Emma speak. "I am going to miss the class, this is the last day and I can never log into this session again" she said, her blue eyes wide open without a blink, trying her best to hide a whimper. Kind Mrs. K said a few words of comfort. They probably helped Emma handle her emotions, they probably didn't. From that point on, I was too soaked up in Emma's emotion to identify my own, So I didn't know.
There's this quirk about me - all this deep seated ponders emerge from a place or space I do not know exists. On a normal day, I am like an actor playing the role - very well aware of the 'playing' part - in simple words, emotions elude me. I know, most people that know me might laugh when I say this but this is the utter truth. But of course, I am a master of soaking up second hand emotions. Like I soaked up Emma's. Some probably call it empathy.
I call it confusing.
So the confused me welled up along side. I suddenly started feeling low. Like I didn't want this kindergarten class to end. Like doing all the 'asynchronous' work was the best part of my day. I probably grabbed a tissue, dabbed my eyes and blew my nose and walked around morphed into Little Emma - carrying the weight of her emotion on my overweight shoulders. I wish and hope that Emma had gotten over it sooner than I did as the residue of that emotion still lingers around here, close to a week after it occurred. I had a hard time taking down the arts and crafts I pinned to the 'work wall' of my second born, and discarding paper work was a torture on its own. Matters didn't help when the second born wanted to hold on to the last scrap of the papers she scribbled and colored on. "Is this the only way you would remember your KG?" I would ask her again and again, making her let go of a stack of papers into the recycling pile. All of this, while I was in a state of denial myself and did all of this letting go with a reluctance I had never known I had.
Then I thought of the Friend we lost last month - and the grief amplified. I let it flow, without dams to control it. I fit myself into all the shoes I could think of fitting myself into, and let the pain cleanse my insides. I know some call it empathy.
I call it Amusing.
Now, Only, If my feeling those alien emotions helps the owners of those emotion with some respite. In my silly way, I think it does. We cannot probably take away another's sorrow. But we can feel it, share it, experience it like our own.
I don't know how to feel about all this soaking up.
I'll let it be.
I call it Loving.
Photo by Mikhail Nilov from Pexels
