Doubt-Humility; Pride-Esteem... and a Self.
I have never been one who was conscious of my eccentricities albeit I was aware of them. One will always know what differentiates one from a large majority. I have always been very comfortable being who I am. I love myself. I love being me. I love being crazy me.
Dark skin stopped bothering me, after that school leaving function, where I was called up on stage in front of the whole school and awarded the nickname of "Kajal ki Kothri" (Box of Kohl). It took me a while to realise what it meant and it went straight into the heart of that innocent little girl, who till then did not think the colour of her skin needs attention.
My accent never occurred to me, till the Japanese lady spoke out loud in an official dinner gathering and told me she understood English but she found it difficult to understand the one I spoke. I absorbed the comment, blushed and went about struggling with my chopsticks, thought whether it was worth the effort to change anything and realised it was not exciting enough for me to put in the effort. I would rather learn Japanese language in that time than try to ape a proper English accent to please the ears of others.
It has always been a short moment of reflection and decision. I could not do anything about the colour of my skin even if I wanted to. I decided not to do anything about my accent, I did not want to.
Then comes a friend with a connection you think that probably went back to another life. Where you think the same way, you appreciate the same things, you happily disagree with each other on many things, you understand the depths of discussion, thoughts; you share the love of reading, love of word games, you share your problems, share your happiness. Without any effort you know each other - or so you think.
That changes.
She tries to understand what may be lacking in the long term friend. In order to justify another friend's actions and subsequently, her own actions.
The eccentricities that a friend can dig up and throw at your face is something that takes a while for one to overcome. Are you weird? Are you not sophisticated in your mannerisms and response? Do you speak direct? If you speak of your hurt, are you 'offensive'? Do you 'project' things in your mind to attribute to your illness? When you fight with your own mother who loves you for being direct and genuine - are you not a good daughter? Should you doubt your own reality? Should you ignore the humiliations of overnight badgering on a topic? If you are different, are you unacceptable? Should you pretend to blend in?
That takes a while.
It took me a while.
Not because I thought I should change my eccentricities or change myself, but because I found it impossible to believe what was "subtly" indicated to me, even when my intellect understood right away. I found it hard to believe the honesty is gone, the openness is gone. The friend that was - is gone. J'ai perdue mon amie. Oh yes, I accept that responsibility though I do not see how I could have done anything more, short of selling myself.
I was replaced.
It took me a while.
It took all my well wishers to remind me who I am. I am treasured. I am invaluable (well to them at least), before I could stop choking multiple times everyday, before I could fall asleep on a dry pillow.
It took me an expensive crop top,
It took me a silent walk with a friend,
It took many compliments on my nature from strangers,
It took me a short dress,
It took me long laughs with non-friends,
It took me 2 bottles of pills,
It took me a while.
It took me 2 years.
I am back with some scars that will wither away.....or maybe not.
Stronger than before.
posted by Tuya @ 15:59
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