Trivial

It's that time of the night when I sit to unload the squalor of my thoughts on to a pristine paper, thereby tainting it. Must the paper not resent me? There are better things that could have been scribbled on it.

It's not really the big things that weigh you down-- well, not always. It's the small things that are more the nettling. What makes it worse is that you cannot open up to others about them. They, in the eyes of others, don't merit crabbing. For they are life-- these small things. And they have to be lived.

Every now and then, you shut your eyes, straighten your back, square your shoulders, and heave a deep sigh, and say to yourself:"I shall not lose it. Okay, let's take it on. One small thing at a time." And you do. You do so until you live. Or you live until you do so. It's these small things, trivial as they are called, that can be quite lethal if allowed to grow on you, if not battled day in and day out.

It's these small things, trivial as they are called, that actually leave you worn out, although you don't do much visibly. Not in the eyes of others at least. "Ah! that's such a trivial thing to worry about," they say, and try to belittle you. Trivial as they are called, these small little things cling to each of us and collude with those clinging to our loved ones and they form a net out of which it takes nothing less than a life time to escape.


The three headed and ten headed monsters are to be slain only in the world of fantasy; in real life it's these tiny gnats that are enough to drive you to extinction. Quite unheroic such a death is. Quite unheroic most deaths are. And we blame the wars and the epidemics. Is it not unfair?

Is it not unfair that these small struggles neither earn you sympathy when they persist nor do they earn you praise when they are overcome? Yet, a chief part of our lives is spent wrestling with these matters which we have the temerity and hubris of calling 'trivial'.

What are these small things, you ask? Ask yourself. You know it. You deal with them every day. Those small things, trivial as they are called.

You say to yourself, "Okay, let's take it on. One small thing at a time."

It's that time of the night when I sit to unload the squalor of my thoughts on to a pristine paper, thereby tainting it. Must the paper not resent me? There are better things that could have been scribbled on it.