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Anger and it's tyrrany.

Rational behaviour and anger don’t go well together.
One is a sweater from the winter line and the other is a sunny dress for a hot summer day.
Horrible fashion fiasco.
Today, my mom told me she'd visit. Which meant that I had to wait in the parking lot for her, until she arrived.
This was a sudden plan, something she came up with on the whim and I was understandably excited about this unexpected gift I was going to receive, in the form of time spent with her.
She didn’t turn up. I waited for a long time because she usually does not make sudden plans. Which meant, to me, that she would turn up inevitably.
She has cancelled many times before, but all those times, there always was a doubt in the plan itself and I would never stress myself out as much as I did today; what if I had missed her? What if I left just as she arrived?
And as the time ticked by, questions started changing in tone and flavour.
Why did she even have to make such plans in the first place if she could not keep up her promises?
I can’t believe I made all those changes in my day so that I could meet her in all my glory.
What had happened?
I felt so angry and a huge part of me understood that this was no big deal. She must have had a real reason to cancel. After all, she is awfully kind and thoughtful. Yet, as I tried to let the rational mind lead, I felt overcome by the irrational anger that blazed it’s hot fiery course through me. In spite of all my deep breathing, in spite of my will and in spite of my mind knowing the right reaction to the situation, I called her up and did exactly what would hurt her the most.
She picked apologetically, saying sorry over and over again.
And I, uttered as few words as possible, my voice at its icy best.
She hated that. She'd rather people yell at her than give her the cold treatment. I am always the person she comes to, when she is treated this way. And here I was, doing the very same hateful things that sapped at her energy.
My thoughts settled as the anger burnt itself out and I was left thinking: Was this a big deal at all? Of course not! There was absolutely no reason to feel any disappointment, betrayal, anger or any of the other dramatic over the top emotions I had felt.
Yet I did. Uncontrollably even.
This incident brings to mind what my dad says when he and I talk.
He says that we are lucky to get to feel disappointed. To him and his siblings, expectation itself was a strange feeling. Not that they lived in an impoverished state. But according to him, even though his dad had a well respected and admirable job that paid amply, they might as well have been poor.
He tells me these stories when he had been chided by his dad for having bought a pair of shoes, that he had needed for school. He had been asking for those shoes for quite a long while; asking, not demanding.
I realise that there was no feeling of entitlement either.
The shoes cost around 25 rupees then. His dad had looked at him critically and told him that he was an irresponsible child for adding onto the burden of the household when they had just finished building a house.
25 rupees is not even a respectable fraction of the money one needs to build a house.
My dad had felt so small that he'd wanted to throw the shoes away as far as they'd go.
This is why, he tells me, that our feelings of disappointment never mattered to him. Because, he was already giving us so much more than what he'd received.
I couldn’t agree more.
My parents have given me so much and that does not mean more than what they received. They have given me so much so that I don’t even feel guilty when we compare stories. That is exactly how much I receive in every moment.
Which is why, I am calmly dialling my mom's number, to tell her about my day, as if nothing happened. Well, nothing really did.


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