Days- at work

These days have helped me knit the best ‘what if’ stories of my life because they were built on the concrete of my ‘what is’ tales.  

Today morning when I got up, while turning the curtains on, a thought of ordinariness struck my head. 

I realized that today was so much of an ordinary day.

Such ordinary that it has absolutely no significance in the history of future of the numerous days I have lived or am going to live. It was such a 'nobody' day that would ever record itself in the history. Its insignificance would get lost between the crowd of the count of ‘365 days an year’.

It was so average that in no way it affected my life. Even if I tried writing a remark on this day, I would not have much to remember about even its unimportance.  

I would never remember getting up the way I did because there was nothing exceptional about it. I’d tuck in the same set of shirts and pass through same streets smelling the same fish across the same wet market, do similar uninteresting work and be back, struggle to sleep and get up next morning to repeat the same circle. 

And that I had become so much used to this ordinariness that I had started to underestimate it to the level of its non-recognition. 

I started to think of such usual days of the past that I have lived, forgotten, been reminded of, forgotten again and moved on. 

I would remember them only if I tagged them as ‘first day’ or ‘the last day’, or ‘best day/ worst day’ but hardly ever remembered any of them as an ‘average day’.

And then I realized that I have been wrong about them. They have been the non-glamorous back office guys, with no hunger for recognition, who had been continuously at work to carve the present Me.

They are the minute pixels of the canvas that painted my life. Coloration and discoloration included.

 

These days were like phrases. So important if they were a part of the story and so meaningless if I tried assessing them individually. 

They were so significant because they have helped me assess the relevance of the decisions I made and the paths I chose. And more importantly, the routes I didn’t. They help me knit the best ‘what if’ stories of my life because they were built on the concrete of my ‘what is’ tales.  

If I look back, I don’t see any day that I have lived in any way qualifying to be insignificant, not because it has been a part of my life but because it has been an important part of it. 

All that I can think of now is a result of what I didn't think then.