“Mum! where is Dad…” little Nia asked, as she half opened her eyes; “He left for war dear, he said goodbye to you before leaving…you were sound asleep then…” her mother smiled. “…but I couldn’t say goodbye to him…” she looked as if she would break into tears;” Go out on the terrace and say goodbye looking […]
When I was a child, I used to try to keep a journal. I would see all these movies and TV shows (read: Lol and The vampire diaries) where the actors used to fill in their journal everyday and I think to myself ‘I want that’. I want to be able to express myself this freely.
You see, being a introvert meant keeping most of my thoughts to myself and listening to other people more than talking to them. And honestly, after a while, I started hating it. I hated the fact that people thought I didn’t have an opinion, that they didn’t care about my feelings, that they hurt me as if I didn’t matter. And I hated myself for not speaking up. I needed an outlet. And so I started writing. But no, I didn’t make a fancy journal like I wanted to. I wrote my feelings on pieces of papers and hid them. I didn’t want my family to see them. They wouldn’t understand. I didn’t want myself to reread them. It would make me feel pathetic. So I hid them all and never saw them again.
Until recently, when I was cleaning my cupboard. I reread them all. I didn’t feel pathetic like I thought I would. I felt proud. I felt happy. I felt strong. I felt lots of things. But not pathetic. I laughed when I read what I had written. Why? Because I grew up to be way differently then I wrote I would, I have better friends, I don’t hate those people anymore and most importantly, I am happy. I am happy with my introverted self and my friends understand me, I have learnt to stand up for myself and for what I believe in and I don’t care about what other people say anymore.
Time and circumstances change you. If you hate yourself, your job, your teachers, your situations or anything else; it’s okay. It gonna pass eventually. You can’t and you won’t hate it forever. Your circumstances make you stronger and time heals you. But it’s like a journey. A journey that is full of potholes and blocked roads. But honestly, it’s a journey you have to be willing to take. You cannot just expect time to heal you. You have to facilitate it to heal you by taking the first step. YOU have to start this journey. YOU have to decide the route. YOU have to select your companions. YOU have to carry your luggage.
YOUR journey is all about YOU.
So, make sure you give it your all. You deserve it and you are worth it.
You label me. Why? What goes on in your mind before you do? Do you just look at me from top to bottom and label me accordingly? Or do you label me according to my personality? And again, why?
I wear specs? I must be a nerd. I always cover myself up? I must be a prude. I keep my hair short? I must be a lesbian. I like converse? I must be a tomboy. I am fat? I must not be knowing when to stop eating.
These lables are about my appearance. And oh, how did I forget the lables you put because of my behaviour!?
I talk too less? I don’t have a opinion of my own. I hang out with boys? I am a slut. I don’t date? I am unsure about my sexuality. I drink and smoke? I’m asking for attention. I laugh too much? I’m an airhead. I feel too much? I have a heavy baggage.
Why? Why can’t I wear specs because it’s hereditary? Why can’t I cover myself up because I like it that way? Why can’t I keep my hair short because long hair is a hassle for me? Why can’t I like converse because it’s comfortable? Why can’t I be fat because it’s in my genes?
Why can’t talking less mean that I’m an introvert? Why can’t I hang out with boys because it’s less drama? Why can’t I be dateless because I haven’t found the right one? Why can’t I drink and smoke because I want to? Why can’t I laugh if it makes me happy? Why can’t I be emotional if that’s what I want?
Why? Why do you have to label me for everything that I do or say. I am free to choose what I wear, where I go, what I do, who I date, what I like and who I hang out with, without having you judge me and label me.
So don’t. Just leave me alone. Don’t label me. I am not just what you label me as. I am much more than that. I am strongly opinionated, free spirited with a kind heart and a beautiful soul. I’m a wonderful person and if someone doesn’t understand this, it’s their problem. You are not an example for me to follow. You are a completely different person than me. I have my own individual personality. I don’t have to love what you love and you don’t have to label me for not being more like you. I am my own person and I refuse to adhere to your rules and standards as to how I should behave.
A labelled teenager.
“The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good.”
It is often said that there’s no such thing as a selfless act—that any time we do something to help another person, we get something in return. It might not be much. Maybe it’ll just be a warm fuzzy feeling. Or a token of appreciation. But there’s always something.
I know you get that good feels when you help someone else. To me, it is a completely acceptable type of selfishness. What gives me cause for concern are the “little” expectations we often have when we give “selflessly.”
Oh my gosh guys, I hit 50 likes on my blog! I’ve never been so excited about likes but this really is something. I know it’s not much but I wanted to share this moment with you guys. Baby steps, right?
A big thank you to all those who follow me, comment and like on my posts and help me grow.
Thank you guys. Y’all are the best!
Music. That’s all I hear today. I woke up to blaring music and wondered what was so happy about this holi. Living on the 16th floor doesn’t make the music any softer (ugh). I ate my breakfast bobbing my head to the beats. I danced to the music later, in my room, only to have mum glare at me. I wondered what was so happy about this holi.
Wondering why I’m so bummed about holi this year? Let me explain.
You see, holi is one of my favourite festival. I believe that it is not only the festival of colours, but also the festival of love, equality and all things good. This is the only festival where anyone can get crazy drunk and no one will bat an eyelid. It’s the best thing ever. And my building committee goes all out on holi. There’s rain dance, unlimited powdered colour to throw on people, a buffet of sorts AND unlimited alcohol (who doesn’t love it?) And bhang, the drink with marijuana is customary (how did I forget it!?). Getting drunk and dancing with your friends till you drop is so much fun.
Guess who is missing out on all that fun this year? That’s right, me! How nice, right?
And guess why? Board exams are going on and mum insists that I should be studying instead of having fun (as if I can study with all this music blasting from the speakers). And the worst part of this? My whole family is down. Except for me. I can see people dancing and having fun through my balcony, but I feel like a creeper when looking at them. Oh, fun!
So here’s me, sitting on my bed, eating lots of snack and having no alcohol, staring at the wall, wishing you all a happy holi while wondering what’s so happy about it this year.
Psychologists believe that this is the most powerful question you can ever ask yourself. And what’s suprising is that there’s always a plausible answer to this question. People who ask this sort of question typically strugge with their identity or self-worth and are searching for an affirmative answer and are mostly teenagers going through identity crisis. The irony is that the more you seek to find an answer to who you are, the more fragile you are likely to feel about yourself. The importance should not be on discovering who you are but on allowing or facilitating our true self to shine through.
How different would life be if rather than asking who am I, we asked how we’d like to be and actually did something about it?
Finding it hard to understand what I mean? Here’s an example most psychologists use when explaining this.
Imagine that you’ve been in prison for twenty years, put there since the age of eighteen. You literally have no adult life experience outside of the prison. Your sense of self is tragically limited. You might ask yourself, “Who am I? This would likely provoke a fragile sense of self that paradoxically might leave you most apprehensive about your imminent release. You’d hardly choose to remain imprisoned until you could find your identity. You’d have to permit that new sense of self to flow from your new experiences.
The main reason I’m writing this post is for you to understand that it isn’t important to find out who you are. That question will only make you feel inadequate and leave you stuck in a pit.
Instead, live your life meaningfully, gain new experiences, have a better bond with people, find new hobbies, follow your dreams and live your passion. I cannot stress enough on how important it is to do what you love. Your sense of self-worth should come from how happy you are with what you do and not from the way you look, the clothes you wear or the things you own.
Because honestly, it’s not what you have that makes you who you are. Rather, it’s what you do and how you live your life.