Signing a peace treaty with the enemy
Battles are often not fought on battlefields with guns and mortars. Valour often does not translate into fighting the enemy with odds heavily loaded against you. Battles are also not about blood and gore.
Many of life’s battles are fought on the great battlefield called mind. Of late, I have been fighting a similar battle, one that was launched when I entered the fifth decade of my life. My enemy is none other than the demon called ageing.
The first salvo is fired every morning when I hear the familiar thud of the newspaper landing on the balcony at home. The words seem to be a strange incomprehensible potpourri. I look around for my most potent weapon, the reading glasses.
The text of the news lights up bright and clear the moment I put them on. Thankfully, the first battle is won. Before long, the enemy is back with a vengeance! I cannot recall where my car keys are kept or where I saw them last. Was it the key holder in my living room or the top drawer of the table in my clinic? Or worse still, did I drop them somewhere on the road? My anxiety levels soar and my heart races uncontrollably. The memory seems hazy. The enemy seems to be on a victory lap.
Suddenly, there’s a flash of memory. The keys are in my trouser pockets, the ones that I wore the day before. I feel as if I have hit a six off the last ball of the match to clinch victory from the jaws of defeat. The only difference is that there’s a deafening silence around my house and the absence of flashing cameras and jostling journalists looking to get a news byte from me!
No one in the house seems to be bothered. Nonetheless, I feel relieved and happy. I have a refreshing bath.
However, as soon as I look into the mirror, the enemy stares back. My hair’s greying and I seem to be looking at an ageing man. That’s not me!
The next moment, another bolt strikes from the blue. I see that hint of a wrinkle.
I feel devastated and defeated. Ageing is a formidable foe, an insurmountable one. How can I give in so easily? I decide to finally dye my hair and pay heed to my wife’s advice of keeping notes of “things to do” and “things to keep”. That way I will outsmart my eternal adversary!
Have I finally managed to emerge victorious in this “Mother of all Battles”? I ponder over the question. Mother Nature seems to mock at me. I have fought the battle valiantly. Did I really deserve to win? A new realisation dawns on me. Not all battles can be won. What matters is to give it a spirited fight.
I decide to bury the hatchet and sign a peace treaty with my adversary. I decide to age gracefully.
NOT ALL BATTLES CAN BE WON. WHAT MATTERS IS TO GIVE IT A SPIRITED FIGHT