No Country For Fear
July 22, 2024Giving into madness is very important when you are about to do something you have never done before, go somewhere you have never been before, and conceptualize of ideas yet unknown. I learned this in the fall of 2022.
Twenty-twenty-two: that was the year I began to slip into chronic illness. The first signs exhibited were depression, muscle weakness, and numbness. Gradually, these were accompanied by loss of sensation in my legs, creaky stiff joints, and back pain. Sometimes, even contradictory symptoms, like stinging nerve pain in my limbs and extremities, and a feeling of: “Always cold," then “Always hot”. Then, something I shared with very few people until this moment: “An MRI image showing an abnormal growth of tissue on one leg”. A benign neoplasm the size of a peach, throbbing and painfully pushing against nerves. All this was very confusing; all I kept thinking was, may this not be the beginning of madness.
As someone with a difficult relationship to control, this was a tumultuous time for me: I could not work, I was in pain, I was uncomfortable, and I retreated and isolated myself. My bed became my sanctuary and home.
I know fear to be parasitic—it needs territory, country, and space—so it claimed its place in my body. I allowed it to invade my weakened state, and visit my waking and sleeping hours. Fear is parasitic; when answers are elusive and rationale fails, it feeds inside the gaps and potholes of life. Fear is parasitic, it needs territory to survive, but strange things happen when you refuse to concede to fear, particularly when you deny it any space.
Here is what I think: if you realize your first act of madness is your entry into this hostile world, it becomes easier to be bold. When fear has no country, gradually, it starts loosening its hold on you. You let go of excuses like “Reason” and Rationality”. You begin to see things differently, with more imagination. I had to convince myself of this. I had to tell myself: “Folly is your strength”, and let the madness begin.
I wasn't prudent; I got out of the cerebral. I captured fear amid the wilderness of the unknown and did something delusional. I applied for graduate studies at Columbia University from my sickbed. It may seem silly, but I do believe that there is a certain degree of irrationality, audacity, and trust, you must possess to hold hands with the future. I started my application to the Master of Arts in Oral History Program (OHMA) comme un jeu, and life answered back with a gesture “—here”. That’s the story of how I got accepted into the program.
