Bilkish Vahed

Rebellion & Romance

Tag: anger

Anger & its Mysteries

I overslept. Kept waking and dozing, then waking and dozing again, until finally I jumped out of bed and, as one does, reached for my phone and opened a mail from a colleague. As I took in the words, a hot stream flushed through my body, filled me. A second later – there’s always a slivered lapse of time in my discernment – I realised that what was flooding me inwardly was the feeling of anger.

Anger is a shifty sensation.

It always surprises me, like the arrival of an unexpected guest. My frustration with my colleague was about the difficulty of pinning down details, getting her to understand the specifics and particularities of the product that we are making together, the frustration of clarifying, fine-tuning, and enlisting her support. But anger, anger is personal. I’m irritated and frustrated with my associate as we sort things out. But my anger is not about her, it’s about me and my sense of embroilment in a limping project.

There’s this woman, you see, who lives inside me, looking out from my eyes. This woman, who keeps me on the straight and narrow path of my own desires and dreams. When she rises, she rants: Do you need to remain entangled in this situation, this relationship? Have you forgotten that you’re never trapped, never stuck, that you are always the master of your own change, big and small?  Do you want change here? Hmm? Then let’s do it! 

In the wake of anger comes a clearing, a reconnection with my Self, lightness.

A Hollow Man

A rambunctious beginning to my Friday!

I went to a new dentist this morning with a tooth that needs attention. There’s no pain, no discomfort, but some fixing needed. Since moving to Joburg, I’ve been looking to connect with a new practitioner.

A smiling gentleman ushered me into his chair. Knock knock knock his metal instrument prodded the tooth. “No pain?” he asked. “No,” I said. “Nothing yet, but you’ll have to get a crown on that one, it’s all down hill from here.” 

A hot flicker under my skin.

“And have you booked an appointment with the hygienist yet?” “No,” I said.  “It’s imperative, you know, before the gums become compromised.” “Look, look,” he said shoving a mirror at me. 

I looked. Pressure was building in my chest. This man felt off.

“Has nobody told you that your bite needs attention?” His dark eyes peered at me over steel rimmed spectacles. “You mean orthodontics?” I asked quizzically. “At my age?” “Absolutely,” he said rushing off to grab a skeletal model with perfect rows of teeth. “You see this is how a bite should look… yours though…”

A switch flipped. 

I hate this man, I thought. Then I felt the shock of it. How could I hate someone who I’d only just met? A “health-expert-doctor”, to boot. But I did! 

I hated his rough-shodding. His imposition, his professional dictates, his bullying! That’s it! Slithering amidst his “professional-expert advice-armour” was harassment and fleecing. In his white room, I was captive.

When the end came, I rushed out and away. What else to do?

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