February's many agendas

(A sequel to "February Slipped By")

After the victory of the poetry competition, my word did not stop there. Instead, I was burdened by another program. We had occasional assembly presentations held in our school. The spacious basketball field would be converted into a mini theatre, speakers and microphones added to accentuate the cinematic experience. Lines of pupils would settle in rows on the spotless cement path, the golden rays of sunlight cling to the cemented path, and bask the smooth unblemished skin belonging to the students.

As a member of the audience, it is definitely entertaining to witness the spectacular performances put on by the seniors. The dramas spiced up with humor and thought-provoking messages excite the audience. However, to be a performer is an extremely arduous responsibility. The countless burdens weigh you down as you deal with social anxiety (as an introvert) and simultaneously carry out your performance, preventing even the shadow of anxiety to pass your face.

However, after the experience of not only taking part in reciting a poem but also being the MC of a program, I could feel the ease with which I would grasp the microphone, how comfortable I would get with the audience, and the seldom occurrences of nervousness which would inspire me to perform better.

For my first performance, I held the microphone steadily, trying my very best not to display the anxiety that was veiled behind the confidence. With every utterance, I slowly gained confidence. Emotions seeped out with every word I uttered, the strong patriotism showed itself from the rise and fall of my voice. The tone of the poem was a bold, powerful one. It required a strong, motivational voice to perform it. I feared that I would not be able to meet the requirements, but only when my lips parted and words rolled out did I realize how mistaken I was.

A murmur of approval emerged from the audience followed by a long applause. Inside, I embraced my introvert self for pulling this off despite the anxiety that still remained tucked inside a small crevice of the heart.

For the second performance, I was to host the program. This time, my hands gripped the microphone with calmness. I spent a long time making eye-contact with the audience and occasionally glancing at my friends who supported me from the audience. (Thank you Samara!)

My eyes ran smoothly over the figures of my teachers and seniors, some of whom returned my look with nods of approval.

The performances and competitions raised the bar of my self-esteem, something I thanked myself for. However, once again, the obstinacy of social anxiety began to seep in, and dulled my life, clothing it again with the same fears I felt while preparing for my poem competition. It was a WEDDING INVITATION. Oh, how my heart escapes from these dreadful events.

The eyes of those aunts ("aunties" as we call them) scanning your attire as you enter the room. The faint murmur and soft whispers filter inside the room, like a soft gentle breeze of Spring slowly wafting by, affecting the rhythmic pace of thin sheer curtains.

(To be continued....)