Musing; Live. Yes, Live Again
Randomly going through old pictures in my archives, I happened upon an exciting discovery. This discovery should normally not be a ‘discovery’ as such, seeing as the pictures are my personal pictures. Let me take this back a bit.
I got married to the man I thought was my all, the man I thought completed me and vice versa. As events down the line proved, he wasn’t that at all. Before him, I was one unconditionally happy child. I partook in activities that interested me, made friends and a few trips (see, I like travelling, experiencing new things) in the day. I also took a good number of selfies, goofing around as I did.
Then married life happened. I’m one closet romantic, not really into PDA and all the mush, but behind closed doors, I let it out. So, I would dream of how I would tickle my husband, stroke his close cropped bearded chin, cuddle up to him, give him massages with happy endings (if you know what this means, high five!). I pictured us visiting places together, taking pictures, making sweet memories as we soared the sea of life together. That was not to be. We apparently wanted different things in life.
Being quite a risk taker, I put my shy self out there a lot. Infact, many people disbelieve that I love my own company a lot. I could be in the same house with you for days and we would not say more than a few words to each other. Not because we have a quarrel, but because the lure of books, films, good music and the internet is far stronger on me. Recently, I delved into the world of mobile games, those treasure blast things. I wonder who sent me on that adventure. However, I don’t like the games enough to send or accept invitations to play, my reading and writing wins all the time.
Okay, so married life happened and tugged, first, quite gently, on the fibers of my self-esteem. I started doubting, very subtly I almost did not even realize it, my abilities. I like crafts, so I’m constantly turning tins and cartons and other ‘waste’ into vases, coin holders, or just table decorations. Married life happened and I started to agree that those were child’s play, that I needed to grow up and start being an adult. My cooking was so criticized that I dreaded entertaining visitors. Hey, I know I’m no Chef Reza, but I don’t do poison portions either. I went into hibernation mode, shut off from the world, because I believed the lie that I had nothing to offer. After all, didn’t the person who was supposed to know best of all tell me so? I wanted to change, to be who he wanted me to be.
I used to look at myself in the mirror and smile at the image I saw. I loved, still love, myself. I would admire my nose, my lips, my tooro (dimples), eyes and trip on myself, all by myself. There’s just one of me, don’t blame me. But married life came with rejection of physical contact. I felt undesired. I tried natural products to soften my skin and make it shine, I tried refined and imported products (thank God my skin is quite rugged and didn’t react to the many experiments). I pushed my dressing limits behind closed doors, paid extra attention to my oral and overall hygiene. This was the person I had committed my life to, I wanted to be irresistible to him. I tried, but it was all like water poured on the back of a duck.
Then, I started feeling old. I was below 30, but I felt 50. I gave up on the extras and did only the required. I felt invisible. So, when I would catch some guy looking in my direction, my hand would fly to my collar line to check if my bra strap was out or I’d just adjust something on my person, trying to guess what was amiss. I never thought I could be attractive to them. One thing I constantly did during that period, was taking selfies (even before I knew what name it was called). I would tickle myself and take a snapshot. Most of the time, I did not go back to check those pictures. I kept moving them from one storage to another. And yesterday, I opened one of the folders.
I was wowed. I said to myself, and a friend I was chatting with at the time, that I now see what those stares meant. Contrary to what I thought, I wasn’t the old woman on the outside, that I felt like on the inside. I was, and still am, beautiful! I spent a good amount of time admiring the me that was presented to the world back then and gave myself pats on the back. My circumstances had changed my opinion of me, but that was an injustice to myself. I allowed perceived opinion rob me of years of gaining good ground being the change I should be. I allowed room for one wrong opinion, then another joined, and another, and another till I was swarmed by what I should not have paid attention to in the first place.
My heart stopped beating. Like a dead battery, I was trying to transfer current to start it up again, but the source was wrong, and the battery stayed dead. However, I got jump started and came alive again. And the icing on the cake was those pictures. Those unlikely pictures, which should have portrayed an old, unhappy, dejected, depressed woman. They added spark to the fire instead.
It’s not as bad as it seems. There’s still light at the end of that tunnel, no matter how small the spark. You are more than your situation says you are. Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t, you’re right. Give no (wo)man the power over your life. Fan the spark, let it blaze again. You’re a star, shine. Speak to your heart, tell it to beat again. You can, if you try.
I got married to the man I thought was my all, the man I thought completed me and vice versa. As events down the line proved, he wasn’t that at all. Before him, I was one unconditionally happy child. I partook in activities that interested me, made friends and a few trips (see, I like travelling, experiencing new things) in the day. I also took a good number of selfies, goofing around as I did.
Then married life happened. I’m one closet romantic, not really into PDA and all the mush, but behind closed doors, I let it out. So, I would dream of how I would tickle my husband, stroke his close cropped bearded chin, cuddle up to him, give him massages with happy endings (if you know what this means, high five!). I pictured us visiting places together, taking pictures, making sweet memories as we soared the sea of life together. That was not to be. We apparently wanted different things in life.
Being quite a risk taker, I put my shy self out there a lot. Infact, many people disbelieve that I love my own company a lot. I could be in the same house with you for days and we would not say more than a few words to each other. Not because we have a quarrel, but because the lure of books, films, good music and the internet is far stronger on me. Recently, I delved into the world of mobile games, those treasure blast things. I wonder who sent me on that adventure. However, I don’t like the games enough to send or accept invitations to play, my reading and writing wins all the time.
Okay, so married life happened and tugged, first, quite gently, on the fibers of my self-esteem. I started doubting, very subtly I almost did not even realize it, my abilities. I like crafts, so I’m constantly turning tins and cartons and other ‘waste’ into vases, coin holders, or just table decorations. Married life happened and I started to agree that those were child’s play, that I needed to grow up and start being an adult. My cooking was so criticized that I dreaded entertaining visitors. Hey, I know I’m no Chef Reza, but I don’t do poison portions either. I went into hibernation mode, shut off from the world, because I believed the lie that I had nothing to offer. After all, didn’t the person who was supposed to know best of all tell me so? I wanted to change, to be who he wanted me to be.
I used to look at myself in the mirror and smile at the image I saw. I loved, still love, myself. I would admire my nose, my lips, my tooro (dimples), eyes and trip on myself, all by myself. There’s just one of me, don’t blame me. But married life came with rejection of physical contact. I felt undesired. I tried natural products to soften my skin and make it shine, I tried refined and imported products (thank God my skin is quite rugged and didn’t react to the many experiments). I pushed my dressing limits behind closed doors, paid extra attention to my oral and overall hygiene. This was the person I had committed my life to, I wanted to be irresistible to him. I tried, but it was all like water poured on the back of a duck.
Then, I started feeling old. I was below 30, but I felt 50. I gave up on the extras and did only the required. I felt invisible. So, when I would catch some guy looking in my direction, my hand would fly to my collar line to check if my bra strap was out or I’d just adjust something on my person, trying to guess what was amiss. I never thought I could be attractive to them. One thing I constantly did during that period, was taking selfies (even before I knew what name it was called). I would tickle myself and take a snapshot. Most of the time, I did not go back to check those pictures. I kept moving them from one storage to another. And yesterday, I opened one of the folders.
I was wowed. I said to myself, and a friend I was chatting with at the time, that I now see what those stares meant. Contrary to what I thought, I wasn’t the old woman on the outside, that I felt like on the inside. I was, and still am, beautiful! I spent a good amount of time admiring the me that was presented to the world back then and gave myself pats on the back. My circumstances had changed my opinion of me, but that was an injustice to myself. I allowed perceived opinion rob me of years of gaining good ground being the change I should be. I allowed room for one wrong opinion, then another joined, and another, and another till I was swarmed by what I should not have paid attention to in the first place.
My heart stopped beating. Like a dead battery, I was trying to transfer current to start it up again, but the source was wrong, and the battery stayed dead. However, I got jump started and came alive again. And the icing on the cake was those pictures. Those unlikely pictures, which should have portrayed an old, unhappy, dejected, depressed woman. They added spark to the fire instead.
It’s not as bad as it seems. There’s still light at the end of that tunnel, no matter how small the spark. You are more than your situation says you are. Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t, you’re right. Give no (wo)man the power over your life. Fan the spark, let it blaze again. You’re a star, shine. Speak to your heart, tell it to beat again. You can, if you try.
Images: Google
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