Vox Populi

I traveled back home today – the trip our family was longing to take has finally ended. As a child, the thought of going back home used to weigh heavily on my heart. Now, I relish the return. I feel a strong sense of belonging amidst familiar surroundings now, within the realm of my own experiences, in my personal sanctuary. It seems I have distanced myself from that once-familiar void.

Embracing our “once familiar” should be vital. It’s akin to stumbling upon an old notebook tucked away in the household archives, stirring up waves of nostalgia as it finds its way back to its rightful owner, with their name still shining on the cover. Occasionally, I find myself flipping through my own essays within these notebooks, marveling at the thought that they were indeed my creations. How powerful I must have felt back then, riding the waves of unrestrained imagination, with an endless canvas ready to be filled with my thoughts. A world brimming full of life and perspectives, carefully fostered and protected within the pages of single-ruled notebooks throughout my teenage years, is indeed a lost treasure.

I dread returning to that routine, fearing it may demand something I can no longer give. I am unsure if it will still bring me joy, or will I be weighed down by the unsettling reality of not finding my teenage self? The fear of the latter haunts me. During such times, I choose a much more convenient way of life – my prodigal remedy – It’s better to let it go, for it has served its purpose when it was meant to. It appears we’ve let go of many things that once forged a formidable core of who we are now.

The act of letting go was taught to me patiently as I fought for my piece of cake from my brother.

The act of letting go felt justified when I was disheartened over my tenth-grade marks.

The act of letting go seemed cruel when I was forced to imagine a life without her.

The act of letting go made me helpless as I watched my beloved’s life slip away.

The act of letting go can be interpreted differently. When we introspect, we often find an overwhelming desire to exert control – over our environment, our children and sometimes even our partner. This drive, while seemingly a genuine attempt to safeguard our future, often blinds us to the subtle yet powerful natural forces that shape our everyday existence. Many of life’s most profound events unfold precisely when we surrender our need to control. True mastery over the world comes not from imposing our will, but from embracing the natural flow of life. Attempting to dominate the world by altering its inherent ways is a futile endeavor.

Consider the example of trees. To nurture a tree, we plant the seeds thoughtfully, water them in the right consistency and ensure they are exposed to optimal conditions. This careful yet gentle approach allows the tree to flourish to its fullest potential. Any attempt to interfere with this natural process, however, would only harm the tree. Similarly, intervening in nature or trying to control the natural flow of events inevitably invites resistance.

You might challenge this perspective by arguing that without our intervention – planting the seeds, watering the tree and providing the right conditions – the tree would never exist. Indeed, if early humankind hadn’t taken control of their surroundings, we wouldn’t have the civilizations, revolutions and discoveries that define us today. This is undeniably true! The key lies in striking a balance between providing the right amount of oversight and then letting nature take its course.

“The Great Gatsby” encapsulates the profound struggle and inevitable futility of holding onto the past. Gatsby’s relentless grip on his romanticized vision of Daisy and their bygone days underscores Nick Carraway’s poignant realization: the true essence of life lies in the ability to release the past and embrace the future, rather than being consumed by an unattainable past.

Relationships, for instance, cannot be forced. They must naturally evolve or spontaneously ignite. While we can facilitate the right conditions for these connections to develop, we cannot control the emergence of “feelings” or “attraction”. The seed of attraction can only grow into a beautiful tree if we refrain from over-intervening, aside from occasional nurturing. The act of letting go distinguishes between controlling and allowing, making all the difference.

Sometimes, all it takes is a stroke of nature’s genius. Its subtle ways of weaving its tricks into the fabric of human consciousness remain a mystery, even to the greatest minds of science. Throughout this essay, I may interchangeably use the terms God and Nature, as they both embody this enigmatic force. Letting go can often be a “profound ache” – to the heart and the mind – because it leaves a door open for hope, a door that seems to stay ajar forever. Hope is what binds us to the unusual and the uncertain, like a sailor’s knot to God’s natural flow of events.

I would always keep my notebook with me, not just for the nostalgic comfort it brings, but for the hope it ignites – hoping that one day I will become a different version of myself, ready to find my teenage self. But then, all it takes is a whiff of nature’s trick – the passage of time, the distraction of life, the intervention of adulthood and the hunger for identity, which make us “let go” of our hope tremendously, if not completely. We have been blessed with the abundance of relinquishing things that may have led to the becoming of many routines to embrace. It’s a divine blessing, universally trademarked and licensed by God – the privilege of unconsciously letting go of things, the privilege of forgetting.

Which makes me think, as an inherent right bestowed upon every living soul – I fairly oppose this boon of a blessing, offered to me on a silver platter. I mildly scoff at the notion of a character arc forged through sacrifices and relinquishments. I positively urge my readers to hold on. Hold on to those things that make you. Hold on to the things that infuse the extra into the extraordinary. For it was titled “The Great Gatsby” after all… I wonder why. Maybe this is leading to an open-ended conclusion, for I am just imposing my thoughts and my readers are the final judgment-makers.

Conquest for the act of preserving and protecting – cherishing the origins of your existence and safeguarding everything around you that nurtures it. If the younger version of myself freely explores the realms of imagination that the older me now hesitates to hold on to it, then perhaps the best years have already slipped away. It seems I am trying to distance myself from that once-familiar void. The once-familiar void of letting go!