Courage is the defining trait for a story-book protagonist; the tale’s hero valiantly battles the otherworldly forces of evil, fighting against their ‘dark side’, bringing justice to the less fortunate as they draw from this inexhaustible reserve of bravery. Unfortunately, as I’ve learnt over the years, that’s not how things work in the real world, we aren’t all naturally equipped with the same levels of gallantry and tenacity as the people we read about, the heroes we want to become. To me, it’s ironic how I grew up on tales of heroism, strong-willed confident characters only to find myself at the same age stuttering to speak in front of 40 other classmates, caught in a cold sweat with tears threatening to leak down my eyes.
Courage has always been something I’ve struggled with. Sure, by definition it seems to be a simple feat to achieve, but in reality, it’s truly a whole different story. Sometimes you go your whole life convinced in your ability to conquer the world when you grow up. Upon growing up however, you find yourself not being able to wear certain clothes outside the house, speak up when you have something to say or take control of your life, all because you lack any semblance of courage. As a child, I was the embodiment of courage: running around, speaking my mind, climbing trees and not daring to look down. I had fears, of course, but I was not afraid to face them. If anyone had dared me to do something, I would’ve done it, no questions asked.
But as I got older some sense of self-protection began to kick in and I was no longer the fearless child I had once been. However, through the course of the pandemic, what I had thought was just my brain’s defense to life-threatening situations had suddenly grown into crippling anxiety that plagued my everyday thoughts and behaviors. It was as though any remaining traces of courage or confidence had been drained out of me, leaving me empty and afraid. It was at this time that I needed the most support from my friends and family, and it was where I found it.
Courage, like any other feeling, cannot be restored overnight, it needs a scaffolding, something for it to slowly grow on and envelop over a period of time. I still don’t think I’ve achieved what I had hoped to at this age, I often find myself lost in thought, worried that the “younger me” would look at the person I am today with disgust and disappointment but over time I’ve learnt not to look to the past for courage, but rather, the future. The idea of ‘endless possibility’ has been my sole source of courage, hopes for a future I can shape and control have fuelled me to do things I would never have dreamt of doing a few years ago. The very fact that everything I do today shapes the person I will be tomorrow has ignited something inside me instead of crippling my views on the world. In my understanding, at the end of the day courage stems from hope, and to have hope one must be willing to take risks, which in turn ties back to this courage.