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Naked, Unashamed
Understanding empathy by looking inwards
Empathy is not a difficult thing if you allow yourself to reach into your consciousness to the depth of your own weaknesses.
I am a drunkard — somewhere deep inside. But what you see on the face is a responsible man — comported, almost saintly, with a sparse history of lasciviousness. I have been dead drunk twice — once in my roaring juvenile years at a college party, in which I ended up at the dorm toilet. The other was at a cousin’s wedding after the birth of my first child, where I vomited on fellow clubbers, got barred from the club and had to be babysat in an idling car by my kid brother for whom I inadvertently spoilt the night. The rest of the time, I am normal as normal can be but what you don’t see, are the many times I buy the solitary bottle of whatever, get home and drink — swig after swig till the bottle is done. What you don’t see is the struggle of never being able to stock the fridge with alcohol because I will forget water exists.
One night, bottle by my side, my naked body wrapped in a flimsy towel, I woke up past midnight on my bedroom floor — the running air conditioner had provided just the right temperature to keep me smothered in the cosy comfort of my spirit-induced stupor. As I stood up from…
