THERE HAVE BEEN TIMES when living vicariously through my fantasies turned out to be an actual possibility. My life seemed like the storyline of an enchanted dream I forever wished to live in. But the fascinating stories in fantasy are not invariably the same in reality. “Wake up! Time to squeeze inside that greenhouse chamber.” Shivers ran down my spine as I listened to my heart. I felt some intensely intangible courage while my body seemed in possession of my heart. Until my gaze was drawn to the mirror, where my mind noticed a scarlet scar on my chin. “Is it really worth it? Melting yourself down to achieve sublimity in the face of all your beliefs? You are that penetrated jury, strangled by your own perspectives.” Definitely, my mind wasn’t happy with my heart. But somehow, my heart persuaded me to focus on the bright side of my, as defined by my mind, “irrevocably perilous quest”. Let’s be like Sue Storm and protect the city with the shield of invincibility. And I was out, again and again, on that pebble path, holding onto some elusive mettle with the aspiration of being victorious.

I won’t lie: it took me a while to figure out that the ambition of being victorious is a never-ending circle. But, eventually, time had alluded me to its relativity. For instance, that agonising episode of last year, when I fought the dementor without the elder wand. I vividly remember being exhausted and out of breath as I dealt with that dementor's first victim. And that was my mom. It made me question the legacy of my heart and rewind my mind’s cautionary tales. “Go lock the door and throw out the keys. Don’t fight this anymore.” But like every time, I followed my heart. And it drove me to despair.

I had a plan. Something away from my heart's legacy. Something beneficial to my very existence. “I should yield my reins to my mind. Not my heart. In this parade, I am not the daredevil.” That agonising episode even intensified this sensation for a while. Seeing all those weary eyes and then glancing down at my helpless hands, I felt like a dried fish, trying to fake my life through the shades of failed tears. And at one point, I contemplated quitting. In other words, I resolved to play the coward, at least from my heart’s perspective. To be completely candid, all I desired was to feel the bliss again, or more precisely, not to hear another disappointing news. But the ambush of relative ambition from my heart sabotaged my self-loving plan. “Is it really quitting, which is going to make you happy? Isn't it prevention before perception? You are concealing your intuitions to feel the shallow bliss that is indifferent to find.” My mind was deafeningly silent. Because it, too, was aware of this inherent truth. Dodging bullets is not my play. So, like many times before, and many times after that as well, I deceived my mind. I went for the erratic adventure with my falling heart. We are best friends. 

Talking about friends, in my line of work, friends is a holistic term that encompasses a broad connotation. It means adhering to one another, so as not to fall apart. It means answering those late-night calls, gazing through my devastated face after a 36-hour long shift, and saying, “I am okay.” It means making those ambiguous promises knowing the possible undesirable outcome.  Finally, and perhaps most importantly, it means feeling the marvellous bliss of being victorious after every successful completion of those hazardous ventures of saving lives. Yes, this is my precious bliss, my joy, my aspiration. This is where my heart belongs. 

I am aware of the consequences. Maybe my erratic journey exacts a heavy personal toll. But the stories I aspire to write belong on this trail. I have seen those weary eyes, but more than that, I have seen the leap of faith in those eyes; seen that unwavering refusal to give up. I have seen the extortion of pain, the suffocation of breathlessness as well. But also, I have seen their cheeks light up as they triumph against the dementor. I have seen those inquietude walkers, strolling around, ready to bet the whole world for their loved ones. And also, I have seen their sigh of relief, their immense exhilaration, as if a mountain had descended from their chest. Those weary eyes have let me realise the value of perseverance. Those inquietude walkers have reminded me of the value of relationships in life; made me realise that happiness is not dependent on where I physically am; rather, it is contingent upon my spiritual location. All these convey an impression to me that I am making a difference; I am part of something greater than myself. I know even if the whole world gets quieter, I am only one call away, and I will be there to save the day. 

For me, last year was a bittersweet experience. I perceived my existence through a distinct fabricated lens. I experienced things I never thought I would, even in the depths of my darkest dreams. But, there was also the dawn of a new sun. The emergence of a new day, filled with hope and anticipation. In the beginning, the constant dread of tragedy fractured my moral legacy, demolished the authority of my heart. I was fearful of closing my eyes. My whole life became fragile. In a matter of time, I found myself on the front row of this world, clueless, without answers, and scared. But being in the front row taught me the most important lesson of all: that I am not alone. I never was. Like the phoenix, I, along with all those aspirant hands, rose from the ashes and forged ourselves to be stronger than ever. And, I was an ecstatic part of that entity. I found ways to foster spiritual ties, conquering physical cohesion. I experienced the delicate joy of sharing and caring. I learned to be content with everyone. Every time I came out of that greenhouse chamber defeating the dementor, passed through the corridor, being cheered and applauded, I felt more alive than I ever had in my life. I discerned the dignity of my presence. And it altered my perspective on life. I want everything to get back to normal again. I desire to put this haunting agony behind me. But, I don’t want that old, boringly normal. I wish for a new, better, and fairer normal. Where I, along with all of us, shall continue to dwell with the spirit we accumulated in this adversity.

Perhaps I was a hero in my fantasy, who rescued the city and ended the catastrophe. Perhaps I was that fearless envoy, who single-handedly triumphed over evil and raised the flag of glory. But in truth, I am neither a hero nor a dauntless pioneer. I don’t wear any capes, and I can’t fix all the issues on my own. In actuality, solving problems is a collective endeavour that must be mastered through relentless hardship and adjacent manoeuvring. There is no individual hero. Rather, we all together form a hero. And being a puzzle piece for that hero is what makes my work matter, makes me count as an individual. This is what makes me, along with thousands of others, just like me, invincible. 

I should have been jaded. Either by my work or my instinct. But somehow, I am not. I never know what to expect at the inception of every single day. I never know where I will end up at the conclusion of every single night. In the beginning, I was fearful of this ambiguity. However, I now believe that it is what keeps the day exciting. It is what makes me feel that I am alive, I am in control of my life. I figured out to be content with what I have, conceding the fact that it can be taken away at the end of the day. I don’t really try to think anymore. Maybe my mind is right. I will fall into a big shaft one day. My heart's legacy will crumble into a thousand fragments. And I will find myself in a predicament from which I'm not going to recover. But I know, I can’t listen to that caution. I confessed to myself, "I will fall. I will fall with my heart, with its fabled shield of invincibility, until I hit rock bottom." Because that’s the story I aspire to write; that’s the story of my life.