It has the same shape, the same size. Its corrugated surface isn’t as pronounced as before, or maybe, it was just my hands. It no longer carried that foreign scent. In fact, the Box and I shared a lot of properties: the scent could be one of those.
The Box had been my home for a very, very long time. It was my comfort zone, my blanket, my shield. Yet, while huddled in its dry warmth, I knew I can’t stay longer. I will have to go somewhere. I will have to make a name, a title, or finish my education, at the very least. To bring these possibilities near to me, I have to come for them. I knew I had to move. And there’s only one way: climb up this Box I fondly call ‘home.’ To bring these possibilities near to me, I have to come for them.
The aftermath of coming out
I wasn’t used to using my legs this way. The Box restricted my locomotive ability. Outside, endless horizon greeted me. Perhaps, it is never too late to learn how to walk, properly. This is how it feels to strive to improve. You start with something reminiscent of nil. Your motivations grow and bloat enough to push you into making decisions. Fast-forward and before you know it, you’re outside: freed from the ignorance of your past, held prison by a new obsession.
Improvement doesn’t really wear any shape, but if there were any measurements, it would be fine to call it ‘big’ and ‘small.’ Big improvements are those that usually exceed one’s expectations. They are also big simply because its impact expands to un-estimated parts. Fast-forward and before you know it, you’re outside: freed from the ignorance of your past, held prison by a new obsession.
Small improvements are often called ‘baby steps.’ These kinds of minuscule-size changes — these are those we find hard to love, appreciate even. We always seem to want the big ones, regardless of our reference points. I was lucky. I only dreamed of seeing what’s outside of that crude, little box. Instead, I saw the world — unfolding before me. Indeed, I’m the lucky one.
** First published on Medium.com 🙂