Trouble Balls

Yasmin Mogahed’s recent post entitled About a Personal Struggle I had as a Teen has me wearing my thinking cap today. I like the analogy of taking your troubles, rolling them into a ball and tossing it into a pile of other people’s ‘trouble balls’. The philosophy is that we would rather pick up our own ball than anybody else’s.
 

The premise is simple, we might crave to be that other person (the tall, thin blonde who gets everyone’s attention, the wealthy friend who owns a Porsche at 20, or the clever sibling who is the pride of the family) but do we really know the cost of being this other person day in and day out? Everybody has problems, some bigger than others, and everybody deals with their share differently.

I have been a part of the rat race for as long as I can remember. My Asian background meant I had a set of parents who pushed us towards academic excellence. We were taught to keep face in a highly competitive set of ‘close friends’. I graduated from high-school and went on to spend five years in university. I preferred university life to school for its flexible structure and colourful social life; I drowned in this newfound freedom but had to take home good reports. What would the neighbours say?

I was under constant pressure to perform. And then they wanted to know what I wanted to do with my life. I had no answer so I prolonged reality by staying on in the university cocoon and completed a Masters degree. Certificates in hand, I had to jump into the workforce, no breaks. The neighbours would question a holiday (maybe she just isn’t good enough for the workforce?).

‘When are you going to settle down?’ they ask next. Now that I am a working woman, I’m expected to marry. I found a man on my own, got married, and had a child. Yet the questions keep following me like an old nemesis. When will I get a salary hike and be able to afford that spectacular villa? When will I be driving the latest custom-made Porsche? These have not been ticked off my list, and maybe never will.

I meet less deserving people who possess these already. I am being crude and harsh for judging them as ‘less deserving’, but most of these people land into the fancy life through marriage, knowing the ‘right’ people, or were just plain lucky. I am just plain jealous.

Then I read about a very tragic incident in Gulf News today. An Emirati father of an affluent household turned the keys of his massive four-wheeler. It was like any other day, until he felt a bump that will scar him for life. His two year-old son happened to be running past, and got caught under the wheels. He was pronounced ‘spot dead’. How will a father live with this? His fancy car did not have a toddler detector device.  All his money and success cannot be traded for this lost young life.

This story gave me goose-bumps.  It made me realize how lucky I am being me and not this rich, successful man. I have a healthy, happy two year-old and my conscience has not been tainted by a heart-breaking incident he has to bear for life. I am seeing my life through rosy pink sunglasses, and feel blessed driving across town in my tiny Mini. I might have my own inner demons, but wouldn’t trade my ‘trouble balls’ with anyone.

- Big Sis.