Introspection

My mother and I were driving home from my grandparents’ house, discussing various topics that kept the car stimulated and alive. The conversations began to scroll into lectures, and before I could notice, she was pestering me to write more essays until school starts.

She told me to write about ‘deep’ questions—ones that involve reaching into one's soul and finding the innermost meaning. She started with something simple. 

“What are the things, or instances, that you have been moved by?

I quickly took this as an opportunity to crack a joke. I replied that I have been pushed a lot of times before, it’s hard to recall how many. This was met with a hardening look from my mom.

The remaining journey back home was silent, as I looked out of the window into the evening sky. The clouds were a great way to introspect, and the experiences began flowing through the window.

Ah, this one was good. My first time watching the movie ‘Interstellar’ with my friends. So far, the movie was good, the build-up was better, but the best part was coming in five minutes. The space vessel was about to head off into the cosmos, and the director of the mission began reciting three verses from a poem. 

“Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

The first verse and the scene of them taking off into space lit a spark inside me. It may have been a brief moment, but that line was enough to move a certain spirit of defiance. At that moment, my mind felt invincible, and this newfound feeling made my fists curl together in dewy-eyed excitement. 

And when the character had finished the poem, the ship propelled itself into the great cosmos. The energy racing through my veins so erratically had quietened down after that. But I will never forget that moment in the theatre. That poem must have been on the back burner of the space explorers in the movie, too. The theatre then reverberated with epic background noise, but the crackly voice of the old man stayed with me.

The theatre disappeared, probably because a new memory had emerged. While the room in my previous experience was pitch black, this one was spotless white. I smiled to myself. Not all theatres had the happiest memories. The operation theatre was one of them. The injection was brief and sharp, and then unconsciousness.

The ceiling was still white, and my papery hospital robes were not enough to prevent the cold atmosphere from chilling my bones. I tried to force myself up and soon realised that I was attached to a restrainer bed. Fear made its way through the chilled atmosphere and trickled into my mind. I couldn’t feel my legs; the leg which had been operated on was a mystery. Where were my parents? How long have I been here? Did it go all right? Is there still a world outside these four walls? The same world with colour, noise and traffic? With each breath, I found myself having a new question.

A new memory again. Still at the hospital. The room is more lively and has the greatest luxury of all, a window! Besides my parents, to keep me company, the wall had a background of Iron Man, Captain America and the Hulk. I took solace in the fact that they went through medical operations, too. My leg was covered with layers of gauze and had spasms of pain from time to time.

My mind was still in turmoil. During sleepless nights, I could not even toss and turn around the bed. It was maddening, and my mind could not get out of it. At that moment, I just wanted one thing. To move, to be able to run, walk, and quite simply get out of this bed. The comic book I was reading suddenly had tiny drops on it.

But towards the door, I caught a glimpse of a tiny child. He had run out of his room and caught my eye. He exclaimed, “Hi!”. I managed a smile and waved back. He grinned and ran away, out of his sight. I think I saw a few tubes sliding along the floor as he went. I thought I had the worst situation in the world. Perhaps the child came to prove me wrong, and he did with a smile on his face. 

Now the clouds were just clouds again. As I got out of the car, I thanked them for being a medium of access to my memories. The question, ‘What moved me?’ made me introspect deeply. I had just scratched the surface.