There exists a human condition within us that dictates the entire spectrum of our social interaction. It remains unseen, unspoken for, yet always subtly directing our thoughts and words for any given scenario, like a master puppeteer tugging on the strings of our hearts’ desires and fears, and through them, driving our subsequent actions and spoken words. No man can be truly free from it, for it is in our nature to self-preserve, and it serves as both the front line and the last bastion of defense we have against all emotional threats, perceived, imagined or justified. It’s the reason why we lie and hide within the layers of masks and pretentious facades we so brilliantly concocted for ourselves; and it’s also the reason why we tell the truth, in the belief that honesty is a transcendence of our inner turmoil, and lifts us up above the trappings of human emotions by willing ourselves to face them in the mirror with dignity. Those are the workings of vulnerability.

It’s not hard to imagine an uncomfortable situation we’ve all been in. The people around you are strangers, and there is no familiar face in sight to soothe the tempestuous surge of loneliness as you watch them mingle from the corner you are standing alone from. Some have the courage to walk up to and introduce themselves, dancing into the spotlight never a doubt of their own self-sufficiency and confidence to shine in the most awkward of social situations. Some of us choose to retreat deep within our own thoughts, pensive and solitary, remembering scenarios when we were comfortable, so as to combat the gradual fear and realisation that perhaps, “I am not welcomed here.” Some people glance nervously around looking for friends, hoping to find relief in a welcoming face, while some people become entirely focused on their handheld gadgets, shutting the unfamiliar world out by escaping into a place where there is familiarity. Whatever the choices, the fact remains that there is this growing sense of trepidation when you are standing alone in an unfamiliar spot, all the while imagining the plausible scenarios that might happen should you ever go out on a limb and put yourself out there. In that moment you feel the full weight of vulnerability pressing down on your shoulders, and what you choose to do next determines whether you buckle under the pressure or you stand resilient against the storm. Neither of each choice depicts the entirety of you as a person, but the sum of all your choices in your life paints a pretty good picture of who you’ve chosen to be.

And then there are the things we hold dear to us as a talisman against the chaotic uncertainties. Our passports in a foreign land, our childhood toys in our college dorms, the keepsakes from our ex-es to remind us of a time when we were once passionately loved. Each little thing serving as a memory template of happier times, or a pillar of security that we can hold onto as we brave the tumultuous roads ahead. Without them we might not be lost, but the fear that if without them we might be lost keeps us hanging to each of these tiny pieces of baubles dearly, and they channel a part of our being, our identity, eventually becoming who we are as a person. We might shed some of them as we grow older, as we abandoned some of our childish fears, but we will never let go of all of them in entirety. The hand-stitched quilt your dead grandmother made you, that old sweater knitted by a favorite aunt, the first pieces of Lego your father bought you, all these kept for remembrance in case you should forget. All of them there to safeguard you during times of emotional peril, taking you back to the memories of love and warmth; they are there to make the world seem less scary, they are there to stop you from feeling weak and feeble, they are there to stop you from feeling vulnerable.

And yet despite all that we do, we will always be challenged by those feelings, the fears of being open, being weak, being inconsequential. And it has something to do with our inane ability to only remember the bad things that has happened, instead of the good. All the insults hurled at us since young, all our failures, all our embarrassing moments and all our soul-wrenching defeats; each of them replaying constantly in the deep recesses of our mind, sneaking up during moments of weakness to assail us with a flurry of blows, leaving us bloodied and gasping by the curb side on the streets of memory. All those compliments we’ve received are mere tiny flickers of light, ever fading in the encroaching shadows of self criticism. So we overcompensate, we puff out our chests to exude an aura of false confidence, we build walls around our hearts, we lie, just so we will never feel the full brunt of hurt that comes every time we are judged unworthy, every time when we do not measure up. We do what we can to show that nothing can harm us, because we know that deep inside, everything does. And we revel and fear the day that eventually comes when we do not care anymore, because it brings about both liberation and the signal that what had once made us human had died absolutely.

We keep our real selves hidden, from friends, from family, from strangers. I keep the real me enclosed, imprisoned, cowering under the dank dark closet from where I will rot until I do not feel affected anymore. And it is there I hope I shed the last vestiges of fear, and truly become invulnerable.

I can only hope it will come to pass.