“Mine”

I own nothing
The ideas I present
The feelings I feel
The thoughts I think
And, the words I used
Or continue to use to express myself.
Everything, ever that has been
Has been through:
Absorption, assimilation, memorization
Recollection, repetition and more memorization.

They are all taken from you, him, her, they, them,
Who may be called:
“Parents”, “family”, “society”, “relatives”,
“Teachers”, “friends”, “colleagues”, “acquaintances”, “strangers”,
“Articles”, “books” or 100 other information mediums.

Then what is it that I have been calling my own?
Or, having a claim over?
What has been filling me with pride
About me doing/achieving this or that?
I have just been a mediator for so many years
I have taken things from here
And, am passing them on elsewhere.
My innovations, manipulations or
The so called value-additions
Are nothing but a concotion.
Which even you could have created
Provided you had similar exposure.
The vice-versa stands exactly true as well.

I have known this for some years now.
But, what’s been holding me back from acknowledging this?
“My fear of losing recognition and my sense of belongingness”.
I see that I bought these two ideas too dearly and blindly
These two kept revisiting my head
Every day and hour of these past years.
Someone, back in time must have sold them to me,
I have learnt them too well,
That I need to belong to someone or to some idea
That if people don’t recognize me I wouldn’t be worthy
Or, belong to them or be their’s
So, I began believing that I need to be recognized by others to belong!

The strange part is, during my growing years
Some one must have also explained about
‘How I could get recognition?’
And essentially,
I must tell you, there is no greater conman
Than the one
Who sold this idea of calling things “mine”.
Bloody hell!

Since then, my existence has relied on making things “mine”
This one idea has kept veiling the truth about me, from me!
The truth that I am just an aggregator and compiler
Of all that I have been told, heard, seen and made to feel
My thinking is just a recollection of a zillion things known.

But, now, the veil cannot exist
As two things have hit me hard
One, if things are not even my own, how dare I call them mine
And, two, if everything is borrowed, how dare I expect recognition!
If the recognition is for being original,
Something inside me, tells me,
“I am sorry you are mistaken,
Nothing is original here”
If the recogntion is for being a good mediator/reporter,
Something tells me,
“I am sorry, but how exactly is that something to be proud of?”

What this realization has done is,
It has shattered the edifice my life was based on
Suddenly, the idea of “belonging”, “worthiness”, hold no value
Because after all nothing is “mine” or ever could be so.
And, I suddenly don’t want to belong to anything
Because what ever was “mine” was given to me!

I don’t want to go to find the origin
Where it all started getting messed up,
Or, as to why it started in the first place.
Because, in search of this
I will only add more information
That will be from others
So, nothing would be “mine”.

And, so if the search to the genesis of “mine” is being dropped
Then the question is
How do I reconcile with people, things and ideas
That “apparently, belong to me?”
How do I now relate with all that is known to me?
What becomes of everything around me, now?
Does my realization wipe off my slate to make it clean?

I would say nothing changes.
Everyone and everything that I called “mine”,
In reality will exist irrespective of,
If I believe them to be “mine” or “not mine”.
What my dumping of the idea of “mine” does is,
It takes away the false sense of identity I had
The false sense of belongingness I felt
The false sense of being worthy
The false sense of recognition and self-pride.
These don’t find importance anymore.

Now, let me tell you a secret,
When you like this write-up,
You have liked the work of others
When you dislike it,
You have disliked the work of others.
Suddenly, there is nothing personal.
Suddenly, you are not even praising me
Or, criticizing me. Its my sources.
I am your news anchor for tonight,
And, I only bring you breaking news.

Yes, may be say I have been a poor reporter
A poor mediator, translator, aggregator or memorizer
Or, I may be a good one.
So, if something connects with you,
But, then again the idea of “reporter” is not “mine”
Its borrowed! I saw the analogy somewhere.

Everything goes on as it is,
Just the perception about who is doing it changes!