October 25th 2024.
As I washed my face and prepared for bed, it suddenly dawned on me that I needed to check my messages. With a mixture of amusement and concern, I scrolled through each one, savoring the happy ones and furrowing my brow at the more serious ones.
Feeling completely drained, I knew I should respond to these messages, as ignoring them would not be right. It had become a nightly ritual for me to obsessively check my messages, a habit that started over a decade ago.
It all began in 2011, when I was starting sixth grade. I was excited to enter secondary school, but also apprehensive about meeting my new teacher. Then, a cheerful lady in her 40s walked into the classroom and introduced herself as Sonal, our new English teacher. I instantly felt a connection with her and was overjoyed to have her as my teacher.
As Sonal taught me English, my favorite subject, she noticed I struggled in the sciences. She kindly offered to give me private tutoring, and I eagerly accepted. She was the first person in a position of authority to whom I gave my phone number, and it felt special to have her contact information saved in my phone.
At first, I would send her simple texts, asking about what subject we would be studying that day. But soon, our communication evolved into full-fledged conversations, with her sending me good morning and goodnight messages. As a young and impressionable 11-year-old, I was more focused on the fact that my teacher was personally contacting me, rather than the content of our conversations.
While I initially thought it was a bit too much for a teacher to be sending such personal messages, I also felt special to have her attention. However, as time went on, it became exhausting to constantly reply to her messages. Sometimes I would just say "GM, miss," or pretend I hadn't seen the messages. But as she was both my class teacher and private tutor, I felt obliged to respond.
My parents knew about our communication and didn't mind, as they trusted Sonal and saw her as a positive influence in my life. However, a month before I was supposed to start seventh grade, Sonal called me and told me she would be leaving due to personal reasons. In the following months, she continued to send me good morning and goodnight messages, but as she was no longer my teacher, our conversations became brief.
Then, one day, a month into the new school year, there was an announcement in assembly. Our beloved Sonal had passed away that morning. I couldn't believe it. Just the day before, I had spoken to her. Or had I? Suddenly, I remembered a message she had sent me, asking me to remember her when she passed away. I had ignored it, thinking it was odd and not taking it seriously.
I didn't attend her funeral, feeling that it wasn't my place to be there since I hadn't replied to her last message. As the news sunk in, I felt immense guilt for not checking on her well-being and for not responding to her message. I learned that she had been battling cancer, but I had been too young to understand the gravity of the situation.
For a long time after her death, I would reply to every message I received, fearing that I would have regrets if something happened to that person and I hadn't responded. I would become anxious if I couldn't finish a conversation or respond to a message on the same day.
But recently, a friend's offhand comment about being "tired of life" made me panic and start calling our mutual friends to check on him. It was then that I realized the root of my behavior - my guilt and anxiety over not responding to Sonal's last message.
Today, almost 12 years later, I am learning to prioritize my mental health and not obsess over responding to everyone's messages. While not replying to Sonal's message will always be my biggest regret, I have also learned to forgive my 12-year-old self who didn't know any better.
It's important to check up on our loved ones, but it should not become an unhealthy obsession. We should focus on responding to messages based on our priorities and reply when we can, without feeling pressured to do so immediately. We are only human, after all.
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