A Salon contributor
wonders why he chose not to tell his family and friends about a life-threatening operation he underwent, and comes to a couple of interesting, if slightly limp, conclusions:
I wore loneliness as an armor to protect myself from pain, the inevitable companion of love. However, loneliness does not comfort you as you’re lying on a gurney wearing gaudy gym shorts, sweating profusely, and being defibrillated. What delusional grandeur made me think I could tame the unpredictable, mercurial and gloriously messy ride known as life?
I wondered how much of this had to do with my South Asian upbringing, where sharing feelings is seen as weakness to be avoided. I realized communities who repress their emotions end up burying their problems under the bed with a fake smile plastered on their faces. We project strength but mask our vulnerability and fear, a bait-and-switch that ends in spiritual and emotional isolation — a sad inheritance for future generations.
