Life started to get scary as I got acquainted with the wonders of adulting. University applications, internships, emotional responsibilities, piles of coursework, and the constant fear of falling behind or getting stuck in a loophole of financial dependence. I was having trouble focusing, and that’s when it occurred to me that all of this pressure was taking a toll on my mental health. Losing your mind before you even graduate college? Non-negotiable. I could not possibly afford to.
I asked ChatGPT for help. Easy, less time-consuming ways to take care of my mental health. Writing a brain dump? Too much work. Fresh air? It’s too hot outside. Meditation seemed easy. I looked it up on Google and found an article by a healthcare organisation based in a first-world country, which I didn’t have a passport for: “Meditation for Beginners”.
Step one: Set aside some time. Practically speaking, time was something I did not have, but then I remembered a quote that my long-distance friend sent me on WhatsApp, which went something like, “Nobody is ever too busy; it’s all about priorities.” At this point, fuelled by caffeine-powered enthusiasm, my mental well-being was my first priority. I decided to meditate at that instant.
“Hey, explain this math question to me.”
I was about to unleash my inner demon, screaming at the reason for all the mess in my shared bedroom to look it up on YouTube, but then I saw myself from five years ago clutching a math book instead of the six-foot-tall creature in front of me, and I realised that I should be the older sibling that I needed but didn’t have. Screw the deadlines for today.
One question turned to two, and two turned to five. After an hour of torturing my brain cells, I desperately needed to meditate. It’s hard being an empath.
Step two: Find a comfortable space. I realised that I could get a few minutes without interruption in my room—if it was locked.
“Why is the door locked?”
“I’M MEDITATING!”
“Do it with the door open.”
My room was crossed off the list. At least I could now relate to all the memes about privacy in a brown household. I decided to explore my habitat for other comfortable places. The living room was off-limits with the background music of a news channel blaring. The kitchen had already been booked for a ‘weekly meeting’. The last time I trespassed, one of the attendees had me doubting all my life decisions because of my small physical stature and ‘unhealthy hobbies’.
Rather impulsively, I decided to go outside and meditate in the neighbourhood park. Screw the heat. It was a weekday, so it wasn’t very crowded and was nestled away from the smoke and sounds of traffic. I found a quiet spot, but I had trouble keeping my eyes closed. I had always been here with my family or friends, so being alone added a sort of uneasiness to the atmosphere. The news headlines that I had heard over the past few months decided to come crawling back into my memory, which added fuel to the fire. It was almost sundown, so I deemed it best to go back home.
Back at my habitat, I realised that I did have one place perfect for meditation: the drawing room. After scolding myself for not thinking about this in the first place and torturing myself in the blazing heat, I moved on to step three.
Step three: Be mindful. I had to live in the moment. What can I feel? The soft carpet—old but barely trodden upon—in a space in my own house, reserved for strangers. What can I hear? Nothing, apart from faint noises of an argument coming from outside. What can I smell? Nothing. The smell of nothingness was a bit suffocating, but at least I was now fully mindful of my surroundings.
Step four: Start your meditation. I set my timer for 20 minutes and closed my eyes. My mind, perhaps taking advantage of the darkness, decided to pull out a typewriter:
“Will my fate be like the women who raised me?”
“When will I have it all figured out?”
“Does success mean leaving this country even though it means everything to me?”
“Whose happiness is my responsibility? Mine or theirs? Is happiness a responsibility or a privilege?”
“Does strength come from being happy, or does it come after processing grief?”
“Do I want strength or happiness? I want stability and peace. Peace. How to—”
Oh, I was meditating.
Step five: Focusing. It turns out this wasn’t a step, just an acknowledgement of the fact that it is normal for the human brain to act like a gipsy. Motivation boosted, I had to keep trying to make it work.
After brushing away a few sadistic poetry prompts from my head, I finally had it. Two minutes of complete peace and tranquillity. My mind was completely blank, all tabs closed, no music in the background. I was getting used to it (step six)—that’s when my timer started ringing, jerking me back to consciousness.
Step seven: Gradually finish your meditation. Well, too bad—my timer had already done the honours. Maybe I wasn’t built for meditation… or was meditation not meant for me?
This episode had me wondering if prioritising one’s mental well-being is as easy as shown by the West, while living in a society where setting basic boundaries gets you labelled as anti-social and prioritising your own well-being makes you selfish. Is the Western wellness discourse really a hoax in a brown society, and are these tips to boost mental health too whitewashed to be practical? Is it finally time that we redefine these concepts to suit our circumstances and set standards to show that some things are basic human needs—not an inaccessible privilege?