It was a couple of days ago, a foggy window greeted me on the bus ride home. .My reflection ,a haze, a face half cut out by the bumpy ride and splatters of light on the windowsills, made me remember a couple of things a couple of friends said to me about myself earlier in the day.
I met Saiba on my very first day here and she says I make her laugh. So that particular day I made her laugh with my interview skills. I posses the unique talent of passing interviews by actually being honest about what I say. Apparently, as the statistics show, it’s been a fairly successful strategy for me . I just go to interviews as the actual image of the cliche advice everyone gives to you before an interview “be yourself.”
Frankly put, I know no other way to come off to people other than “myself”. But I am not going to sit here and pretend that I don’t know how people hide their true selves or come across as someone other than themselves because I do know. That is why I decided to write this. This whole myself bullshit is something I say, often scratching out the last lines. What are these last lines?
I know no other way to come off to people other than “myself” because I made the conscious decision to forget all other ways of coming off to people.
Does that make sense?
Perhaps this will.
Tehreem and I talk a lot. What about? Oh God. Today we decided to talk about trust. She trusts me more than she trusts the normal person. Which could mean two things: either I come off as more trustworthy to her, or I come off as less normal. Either way I am a happy person albeit a guilty one.
Sigh. Here is my honest reply to your
taunts compliments about my bluntness.
It took a hell lot of conniving yet surprisingly blatant hypocrisy to make a Farees from broken pieces of the self respect and self esteem I had left after years of torturing myself to conforming to the desires of coolness.
Yes, it’s as complicated as it sounds.
I wanted to be so “different” so “myself” that all I became was a wannabe. The irony.
When you’re 13 and your life is life is a projection of Hannah Montana on a brown society, you are inadvertently going to grow up in a state of confusion where not one thing fits your description of “yourself”.
THAT’S BECAUSE YOU DON’T KNOW YOURSELF WHEN YOU’RE 13.
You just entered teenage, you haven’t even seen what academics look like, you spent last year planning what to wear at the marriage of a cricketer who doesn’t even know you exist, (not to mention you won’t even like him in a few years time), you think all of the people in your class are your friends, YOU TELL ALL YOUR SECRETS TO A BULLY????, you don’t know what you’re doing. Stop forcing yourself to be yourself. “Yourself” is just forming. It doesn’t even exist yet.
But I did force myself. I forced myself into social concepts and built up a plastic personality on discarded ideas by Disney producers who set their shows in a county whose social preferences were greater than even the distance that separated us. It was a harsh time growing up. Friends seemed as elusive as the “persona” I was trying to achieve. Everyone I knew was a friend and everyone I knew hated me. It was a level of pathetic that scares me even today.
I fear looking in the mirror and seeing myself as nothing more than a accumulation of broken dreams.I spent so many years trying to be someone I’m not that the picture in the mirror was nothing more than labels, price tags and opinion inculcated by irrelevant people who I couldn’t impress. I was extracts of coolness and spice.
It wasn’t until I was well into my teenage years that I yelled to myself I am not food or the power-puff girls.
I was a hypocrite. It took immense will power and self loathe to strip myself of that title. I had to throw everything in the junk yard and reconstruct myself. It was hard but living a lie was harder. I regret I didn’t see what ad become sooner. No one saw. We were all 12. We were all 13. We were all somethings not someone yet. We were never taught that that’s alright too.
So to slightly deviate from my selfish ramblings of my brave and epic fight with myself if any 12,13,14,15,16 year olds are reading this: Listen to your fucking self. LISTEN. That tiny voice erupting from somewhere is not stupid. That is the you, you are going to be. And when you’re 19 you’ll realize all you can really be is that little voice. That’s really cool too.
Now back to my struggle of #keepingitreal. So I created my self esteem with something stronger than titanium- sarcasm. I created my opinions with the same thing as before – sheer stupidity. I barged into my obstacles. I talked as loud as I wanted. I laugh as loud as I wanted because fuck we don’t laugh enough. I cry in front of people now. People think they can take advantage of me because crying is weakness. I carry twelve extra loads of dramatic insulting, hard hateful vocabulary and wistful comebacks for those genetic strands that natural selection left by mistake. What’s funny is that I don’t think they’re worth wasting my breath over anymore.
I’ll use my ammunition on the misogynists.
The funniest thing I realize though is that fundamentally I will always be like everyone else. I ultimately will get offended or embarrassed or some of those other annoying words by someone. I will be shy in front of a crush. I will NOT talk to everyone I want to talk to. I follow some constraints of being human. That has been the hardest thing to accept these days. But hey I’m learning.
This is titled my redemption, not because this awkwardly phrased blog post that will get a total of three likes is my redemption but because I am my own redemption. I’m still pathetic. But at-least I’m not a hypocrite. At least people trust me now. At least I have friends. It’s funny really. I was searching for people I identify with-when I didn’t even identify myself yet. I am glad for the people in my life.
But mostly I’m glad for myself.
Atleast on the days I love myself anyways.