When my friends first likened me to Devi from Never Have I Ever, I scoffed. I was not impulsive, intelligent, brave and fearless like Devi. I didn’t date several boys in high school and I sure didn’t get into an Ivy League. But one night, as I was binge watching the latest season, I found my breath hitching at a particular scene.
Devi’s at one of her therapy sessions crying her eyes out when her therapist Dr. Ryan says, “Devi, you feel a lot.” I remember placing my hand on my chest when I heard that dialogue and suddenly I was sitting right next to Devi on the therapy couch.
One could say I was born sensitive. It’s been a blessing for the adults in my life but a nuance for my social life. When I was young, I was easily hurt by teasing, easily dissuaded when I wasn’t included by my peers immediately. I was sometimes overly empathetic.
One instance that sticks with me to this day is from a family vacation. The four of us were eating dinner on the patio of a restaurant when we heard melodic strumming. An old man had his violin tucked under his bow across the stress from us and was playing popular songs. He had a case propped up next to him, with a few coins scattered in it. He wore an old faded suit, one that probably carried enough stories for a lifetime.
It was clear from his appearance that he didn’t come from much. And I watched as he played beautifully, his fingers still not robbed of their dexterity despite his stooped back and the wrinkles etched into his face. All throughout dinner, I wondered why no one passerby dropped any money into his case. I didn’t have the guts to ask my parents at the time, I always struggled because I knew how careful they were with the money they earned.
On the car ride back to our hotel, I asked my mom, “Did the restaurant hire that old man?”
She looked down at me sadly, “No, honey I think he was just playing on his own.”
And then I immediately burst into tears. I spent the night thinking about the man with his violin, ending the time in an empty home with coins to pay his bills. While I will never know his true story, I think of this incident more than ten years later.
My mom worries about me because of this ability to feel. After all, it has sometimes landed me in trouble.
I always find myself opening up to people, searching for the best in them, holding on to any goodness they show me even when I’ve been wronged and disrespected far more. I tell myself after each experience that I will forever be jaded, that I will never open up to people because that gives them the power to hurt me.
Alas, I never seem to learn my lesson.
If anything, I’ve become worse with letting go of people who’ve left my life on their own accord. I seem to hold on more fiercely every time it happens. The ache in my heart ebbs and flows for longer with every instance. I wrestle with this part of me that is so affected by anything that happens to me or the people in my life. I wish for this piece of my being to almost die on days when it hurts too much.
But as one of the most important people in my life told me recently, my imperfections are what make me whole and the person that I am today. Some people may take advantage for it, but the right people, the ones that truly matter will love me for it.
So when I lay awake in worry for my friends and family. Or when I find myself tearing up as I take on someone else’s pain as my own, I view it as a privilege. Because it truly is such a privilege to feel this deeply, to ache this severely, to love this greatly. For me, it makes my life all the more vibrant, it colors my experiences with emotions.
To the ones who have ever questioned if their heart was too big, too open and too sensitive to the world around them, I leave you with the rest of Dr. Ryan’s words to Devi.
“Devi, you feel a lot. Which means sometimes, you’re going to hurt a lot. But that also means that you’re going to live a life that is emotionally rich….and really beautiful.”