Mirage.

s(cared.)

It is not easy to be blind, uncaring and impassive, towards our surroundings and to those who consist of it. I wonder, why I choose to turn to nonchalance far too often than to my liking. Why is it, that I refuse to acknowledge that perhaps, a part of me begrudgingly cares, empathises, tries to understand the Other?

A luminous, glorified loner I have been called, but I wonder what transformed me into this person?

Was I born this way; a child who preferred to be in her own world with her detective novels and Disney animations? Perhaps, that was a part of my childhood, but the other part consisted of a vibrant, exuberant family celebrating zealously a colorful Durga Pujo, or discussing the politics of Marxist agendas.

I had just learned to care then, about the have nots, the stray dogs in our alley, about my dance teacher, about my ailing grandfather. It was natural to be compassionate, to be sensitive as a child. I was eager to be in tune with the dust of the brazen fields in school, the racous laughter in the co-ed classroom. I had cared, I had engaged, I had done so being blissfully ignorant. It didn't occur to me at that time to reconcile with the fact that, the love you gave almost always had to be conditional. I grew up that way, and the unconditional expanded.

Until.

Until, I grew up and my interactions became aware of the ground that they were held in. There was a premonition of being acknowledged, of being accepted, of being received. Teenage. The age where one wants to be heard, and validated. I didn't care for validation much, even as a child I was far too sure of my abilities, far too aware of my mistakes, and far too cautious about not repeating them.

So, what happened? I ask myself. Why did the sudden dawn of such indifference? It had been diffusing for quite a while now. Was I stumbling into adulthood, learning to be on my guards so that I wasn't stepped on? But, becoming an adult doesn't require this much of indifference, this growing sense of detachment.

So, what then?

Why could, I no longer bring myself to care?

I suppose I am scared.

I am scared that when I care, I often overdo it. I often forget that I care about someone else, and that it is no right of mine to make them claustrophobic with my sense of protectiveness. I had stopped interfering in the issues of others, I had been wary of clouding anyone's judgement with my own. But, I was scared that when I did care, it was misinterpreted and hence, violated.

That is why, I stopped caring. Because, I was scared; I am terrified that someone will misunderstand me and loathe me for caring too much, for caring out of bounds. When I care, I care with my whole being, heart, soul misplaced sense of self-righteousness and all.

I am scared to care because, I have been proved wrong too many times; people might not care that you do. People might be scared that you do. We are all scared. To care, to not to care, to stop caring. Perhaps, mostly of each other.

And, I have no right to scare people. I care too much. I scare too much.

I am scared, too much, to.