“No, no, I’ll manage.”

Four perfectly innocent words. Except that, in my case, they can mean almost anything.

Sometimes I genuinely mean it.

Sometimes I’m secretly hoping you’ll insist.

Sometimes I’m trying very hard not to impose.

And sometimes? I’m just being stubborn.

And all this from four little words.

Like the time I found myself practically negotiating a UN treaty over a samosa. It was at a friend’s place, and I had already told her, “I’ve eaten. Don’t offer me anything.”

She offers.
I refuse.

She insists.
I refuse again.

She insists again.
I give in.

This was no longer about the samosa. I had somehow dug my heels in.

Clearly, in this case, I was simply being stubborn. Somewhere in my head, a voice was saying, “Just accept the samosa and be done with it.”

Stubbornness is only one version of my “No, no, I’ll manage.”

When that wee bit of “I can manage perfectly well” takes over, things can get a little intense. Though thankfully, not always.

It can be as simple as trying to open an impossible jar. I wrestle with it for a while, trying really hard to keep my sanity intact. It doesn’t last long before I’ve inflicted multiple stab wounds on the poor jar cap and finally resorted to a can opener. Other times, it’s when I take it upon myself to assemble furniture. I start off pretty enthusiastically but by the end of it, I have added unique features to them, with some leaning at alarming angles.

I most definitely did not manage this well!

Sometimes even before I reach out to friends and family, I have already assumed:

They’ll be busy.
They won’t want to come all this way.
They probably have other plans.
They probably want to be left alone.

Maybe sometimes accepting kindness is simply allowing someone else to express theirs. I do try to remind myself of this. And the one time I actually listened, it turned into a not-so-amusing disaster. My gut had been telling me not to accept the offer. I should have listened.

A friend once offered to pick me up on his way to a dinner party. My immediate reaction was, “No, no, I’ll manage. I can take a cab.” He insisted. He was going past my building anyway and it was really no trouble. So, after my usual resistance, I accepted.

And then I waited.
And waited.
And waited.

He was on the phone throughout the drive to my place, and conveniently drove straight past my building, not realizing that I was supposed to be in his car.

I eventually called the host to say I was running late because my pick-up was missing in action. A few minutes later, my friend finally called to apologize. I was torn between laughing and being furious.

I had spent all that time worrying about inconveniencing him, only to discover that I was the one who had been inconvenienced.

I also pride myself on being pretty easy-going. Anything is fine. Anywhere is fine. Whatever you want.

This has not always worked out particularly well.

A friend offered to plan an evening out and I said, “Whatever you want.” We landed up at a Resto Bar where we sat silently the entire evening. The music was blaring and we couldn’t get a word across the table. We stared at each other, moved our mouths to eat and texted when we had anything to say.

And then there is food.

This is where all my carefully constructed principles about not imposing fall apart rather spectacularly.

There is one incident from over 30 years ago that still brings back fond memories of my aunt. When I was craving my mother’s mango curry, she offered to make it. She arrived the next day with curry to feed an army. I didn’t like it, but somehow found myself with no choice but to finish the entire curry over the next couple of days. She would call during lunch and dinner to make sure I was having it. After this incident, I am careful about what I wish for. It took a while before I looked at mangoes again.

There are, however, friends who are great cooks with whom I am remarkably uncomplicated.

No second-guessing.
No “Are you sure?”
No, “Please don’t trouble yourself.”
Just a very easy and enthusiastic, “Yes, please!”.

I would be stupid to decline their offer to feed me. Why would I deprive them of the joy of feeding someone who is more than happy to eat? Our belly-licious relationship feeds both body and soul. I will never deny them that pleasure. Nor, for that matter, myself.

Perhaps I am slowly learning to stop making everything so complicated. If someone wants to help, maybe I should let them. If someone wants to do something nice for me, perhaps I should just say yes instead of conducting a full risk assessment in my head.

I may not always get it right. In fact, I probably won’t.

But I am learning.

Although, if someone calls to say they have cooked too much food and would like to send some over, there is absolutely no learning required.

Yes, please.