If one were to look up the meaning of “brave”, the definition they’d come across would be the strength in us to confront something that scares us. We call policemen brave, the armed forces brave, people who face great tragedy and get back on their feet head on brave; but we forget that bravery is bravery irrespective of its scale. Something which is second nature to us might be someone else’s irrational, closeted fear – like the fear of dogs, or flying, etc. Bravery is subjective. Bravery ranges from something as small as shooing away a cockroach to jumping in front of a car to save a child.
I do brave things every day. We all do.
I wake up every morning – even when the world is gloomy, monsters lurk in every corner I turn and sadness is my partner in crime – I still wake. That makes me brave.
The thought of ending up alone terrifies me. Being betrayed by someone I care about scares me even more. I still trust people and make friends. That makes me brave.
Every inch of me screams and reeks of paranoia. My anxious mind maps out every possible thing that could go wrong. If I left the house, anyone could come in and rob it. If I walked to school, I’d get mowed down by a car. If I took my car, a tree could fall on it and I could die. But I pack my bag, lock the door, check obsessively, and make my way. That makes me brave.
I stay in the hostel; away from my parents, my friends, and everyone who cares about me. It’s hard to make friends, the stakes are high. I eat loneliness for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sometimes I snack on it too. Despite this, I go to college, talk to people, and make an effort. That makes me brave.
I treat my patients with kindness. I listen to their worries and try to help them in any way I can. But sometimes everything that can go wrong does go wrong. Their relatives seethe in anger and want to seek “justice”. That doesn’t stop me from doing my job. That makes me brave.
A nanoparticle floats fervently through the skies and rules the world. COVID-19 is a highly infectious disease and it has serious repercussions on our health. Yet I wear a gown, a mask, a face shield, gloves, and risk it all. That makes me brave.
I am not conventionally pretty. The eyes are a little too small, the nose a little too wide. I leave my hair, covering my face and draping it over the atrocity that I call my shoulders. Until I come across an article on how organizations make wigs for patients of cancer who’ve lost their hair to chemotherapy. I sigh and hold my breath as I look at my hair. The hair I wear as an armor to protect me from my own insecurities. I braid it and then I make the cut. Snip.
That makes me brave.
P.S. – We’re in a situation we never saw coming in our wildest dreams. It’s been a difficult and tedious few months. Let’s all remember to treat everyone with kindness because we never know what they may be going through. Kindness and unity make us brave.
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