To be Privy to Myself

Differences get more pronounced when you put them against a backdrop of seeming homogeneity. Changes seem more alien when you keep them next to what had once been familiar. I went out with a friend today and when I spoke to her, I realised just how much I had changed from the person I had been. From the smallest things, from the way I held myself to my hairstyle to my way of speaking, everything has changed quite a bit. I view them all as positive changes, I am quite happy with the changes, they are changes I have wanted for a long time and they are finally happening. But I had not been privy to my own change–it sounds extremely dumb, how can I not be privy to things that happen to me? But that’s what it is, I have been quite spectacularly clueless about myself (I still am, but growth curves, they are quite real).

Another uncomfortable thing I realised today was that till date, the biggest compliment that anyone can give me is to say that I have lost weight. I seem to have quite an unhealthy obsession with weight, with wanting to lose it and feeling inordinately pleased when someone says that I have lost weight. It is an extremely insidious thing, I feel, to feel that way about myself, because I end up fat-shaming myself if I don’t lose weight. Possible serious issues that could raise because of this includes eating disorders, and I don’t want that on my plate (okay, that was an unintended pun, but a good one nonetheless). So I am going to actively try to stop myself from this obsession, it is difficult, especially in a family where weight is given a lot of ‘weight,’ where judgments are passed freely for weight, where being shamed for weight is normalised and is actually considered to be a motivator. I am probably at my healthiest right now and my weight should not be dictating my ideas and thoughts like this.

I do concede that just a year back, I had been a lot heavier and a lot less healthy. My weight was adding to my period complications and it was only after I came to Ashoka that I started losing weight. I was also losing weight fast, and a lot of it was also due to unhealthy eating habits. I have lost nearly 10/11 kgs in this one year I have been in college and in numbers, that is quite a mind-boggling thing. But I think this is where I shall draw myself a line, I don’t think I want to be heavier than this but I also am apprehensive of getting lower than this. I am probably still in the overweight BMI scale, but it is pretty skewed and not quite accurate and so I am just trusting what I feel about my own general health and I feel quite positive about (and I pray I am not jinxing that) that.

I also felt weirdly pretty today and just when I was feeling quite happy about myself and my life, I was whistled to on the road and I felt a rage I could not explain. I had been cycling to meet my friend and this man on a motorcycle was travelling the other direction and he just whistled to me in the cinematic hoohoo way. And before I could respond, he was gone and I had to go on my way. At the beach, as I was trying to find a place to park my cycle, I was once again stared and pointed at by a group of men. It all made me extremely angry, I was finally feeling in control of my own body and finally learning to feel confident in my own body and skin and this just pulled me down. And I felt helpless too because it felt like I could not do anything against them. They knew it too, they thrived in the knowledge that nothing would affect them. Well, that was a ruined mood, but I refuse to let it boil for longer than this in my head. I had sambar vadai, I am going to a movie probably tomorrow, and I am excited to do it all. So, I am going to sleep after a tiring day and because of tired hands that cannot type. My break will be good, right?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Eat, Sleep, Live

So, this time I am setting myself a limit of twenty minutes to write this post. I fear that giving too much time to this blog could end up having a negative effect on me, an effect I don’t think is very healthy for me. It is all probably part of my endeavour to develop healthier habits to cope and survive, and more than survive, live. Today, I woke up feeling sick and I ended up vomiting a little in the morning. I can only attribute it to my general sense of health all this while, my general lack of taking care of myself no doubt. I had skipped many meals and it was all causing my stomach to throw up what it did have. Nonetheless, I forced myself to eat lunch and dinner and even though, it seemed to resist and did not seem particularly pleased with food, I managed to give myself the calories I obviously need.

There was a point of time in my life when I actually considered starving myself, because I felt that I should not eat. This came from a place of deep insecurity and hatred for my own body, I hated that I was fat (I still am, but I am more accepting of that than I was before). That’s all there was to it, I thought I was fat and considered not eating so that I won’t be fat anymore. I think I tried that too, a few times, but I always ended up succumbing to my growling stomach and ate. When I would eat, it would be followed almost immediately with a burning anger at my own helplessness against my hunger. It was a malicious, vicious cycle I managed to thrust myself into. But it was a cycle that fortunately never gained the traction that it desired, if it had, I probably would have been thinner but the effects of that thinness are something I am glad I never would have to face. It is better to lose weight healthily than that way.

Which brings me to what I wanted to say here, I have been losing weight here at university. It was the effect of many dietary changes (most of them bad, I should say), it has come from skipping meals and eating lesser quantities than I used to. Last semester, I was not this bad but this semester, I feel like I have lost weight faster (and it has only been a month into university!). Now, I don’t know if I have lost weight or not, I never tried to find out, what I do know is how I feel and I don’t feel great. I don’t like the loss of appetite, I don’t like this and hence why I am trying so hard to bring it back on track, start eating properly again. I am going to work through this and emerge victorious, right?

And that’s my memory for the day.

PS: I was done in 10 minutes, which means more time for me to read

Crash and the Process of Self-Love

I cannot explain the complete, utter burnout crash I experienced today. I haven’t crashed like this since last semester, when due to lack of sleep and loads of work and stress, I was vulnerable to these periods of times, where I would crash close to passing out for hours on straight, beyond my control. But what is refreshing for me is that, unlike those times where I would be possessed by a deep, anguished guilt for sleeping and wasting my time instead of getting my work done, this time, I feel refreshed and I am truly able to appreciate the rest my body forcefully made me take. Though I am still confused and don’t really understand what could have caused this, because today was probably one of the days when I was completely fine and definitely the least exhausting of all the days that have passed in this week. But that could also explain the crash, being a logical conclusion to these last few days of exhaustion.

I have recently been finding myself obsessed with a couple of songs, hearing them on repeat so many times that they probably have lost their impact, but that doesn’t faze me. I can only remember a handful of times when that has happened before, when I listened to a song too many times that they became irrelevant in my mind. And almost all of those times, they were preceded by a time of mental stress or issues. There could have been a personal thing that would have been bothering me too much and like the escapist I am, I would drown my sorrows in that song or those songs. It was my belief that if I listened to that song too many times, just like how the song would lose its meaning in my head, so would the problem. For a few days, that song would only make me remember whatever it was that was causing my problems. But after that initial, mostly painful phase, the problem and the song would vanish slowly from my memory. There are quite a few songs like that that exist in my library now, that leave a vague ache in my heart when I see their names. But aside from that small prick that I have now come to accept as inevitable, the songs cease to really pain me as much as they used to. They also lost their meaning, I don’t really listen to them anymore. I am more insulated and protected, so to speak.

I wrote an email today, or rather, I am writing one side by side to this post. An email that I felt needed to be written, an email that really took its time getting written but that which left me feeling better and lighter. It was to a good friend, about something important that had been in my mind for a very long time. I will not say much more here for fear of revealing it all, but the mail was something I felt I needed to write. While I don’t know how it would be received, whether I would be seen as a nosy arse who couldn’t mind her own business or as a dedicated friend who had their best interests at heart. But that is out of my control at the moment, I have tried my best to be as good as possible and I was extremely sincere about it. I can only hope that it shines through my otherwise quite immature words, that they will see through it to see the deep care I feel for them that prompted me to write the email in the first place. Does that make me a bad person, disguising a potentially nosy email as one of care, so as to escape retribution? I really don’t know and I fear, if I dug a little too deep, I would not be pleased with the answers. But isn’t that the case with everything, when you dig deep, you discover problems non-existent before.

But coming back to the songs that helped me cope with pain. I have been vocal about my struggles with weight. It has been a huge part of my life, adding to a lot of insecurity I have felt about myself, The construct of attractiveness and beauty, of what is worthy of love and affection and care. Through school, I drilled into my own head that I would never be worthy of love and that I would be better off being alone all my life. While the second part is something I still think about from time to time, I would like to believe that I have outgrown the first part. But there is still a part of me, one that rears its ugly head a lot of the time, when I walk past a mirror, to hiss in my mind, “look at yourself, how absolutely ugly, how do you think people would find you attractive enough to like you”. And to my utter shame, there are times when I nod my head (metaphorically, of course) and think “fair enough”, with an air of carelessness and acceptance of my ‘fate’. But here was the deal, this judgement only came towards myself. I found other plus-sized women gorgeous and beautiful (not just as words to comment on their pictures on social media, but from the bottom of my heart), I just couldn’t translate that to myself.

I would like to think that the shame I feel with concurring with that stupid voice in my head is proof that I am more than those sad and insecure thoughts. That somehow, I am becoming better, that I am overcoming these ideas and thoughts, toxic thoughts that they are. I like to think that I am fighting against that poison, and the fight is hard, so extremely hard and there are times when I am winning and times when I am losing. But the war never ends, I am preparing for the next leg of the war as the previous one gets finished. It is a constant process, I guess, this business of loving oneself past your external flaws and appearances. There are times when it works, sometimes when it doesn’t, sometimes when it just doesn’t matter at all. Regardless, I like to think that I am in the process, this process that apparently could last a lifetime. Are there really people who don’t go through this process every day?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Love, Appearances, Plans

There are days when I just sit and twiddle my thumbs, doing nothing at all except the basics. I haven’t been sleeping properly these last few days, and it has definitely taken its toll on me. I feel extremely tired and exhausted, even right now, my eyes are just drooping shut beyond my control, I am yawning every minute. Today, I feel in poor health, just bloated and uncomfortable. I want to do something, but I absolutely don’t feel up for it. I am guessing it’s the lack of sleep and worry about my own health (and weight, though I don’t want to get to those insecurities just yet) that has pushed me into this period of unproductivity (is this even a word?).

Right now, exhaustion overcomes me, I want to be more active tomorrow, get work done, get my review written, have my story completed. There is just so much to do, and I am making next to no progress. Instead, I am worrying myself with playing the keyboard or practising my writing in my left hand, all important things, no doubt, but currently of secondary concern. I have a deadline I have to keep and at the rate at which I am going, I will be a hopeless disappointment (if I am not one already).

This current period is reminiscent of the writers’ block I faced during finals last semester. I know that what’s at stake is probably much lesser than what had been at stake then. But things are still at stake, and I don’t want that to go waste. I am also reminded of myself back when I was in twelfth. It had been a time of worrying but also extreme laziness. My days were spent just sitting and trying to study, complete removal from any kind of activity whatsoever. Isolation, and a special form of feeling shy to go out and do anything at all. That was the case even after the exams were over, I started feeling ashamed to go out. 

I think this shame started when I was in 7th standard, I had just begun to notice that we were all beginning to grow up. Puberty was hitting everyone, a lot of the girls in my class started getting their periods, sometimes in class. I did not get my period till much later though, I was one of the last ones. But everyone thought I had already got it because I was big. It was during a summer camp between 5th and 6th standard when I was told by a girl that ‘people like me’ get their periods earlier. When I did not get my period even when roughly 90% of all girls in my class had, I started looking for ways in which I was different from them. 

The results were not especially favourable, especially for a pre-teen already struggling with body-image and self-esteem. The voices never really stopped, they still whisper nasty nothings at me, especially so recently. I have just got better at ignoring them and pretending they don’t exist. There have been times when I have desperately wished to be different, to look different, to feel different. I have also wondered if I would never get a chance at love because of the way I look. It is a very specialised conditioning that we are all subjected to, I still struggle with the idea that I would find love, and finding it, difficult. In fact, a part of me (one that surfaces quite a bit), is convinced that only some ‘great’ person would be able to accept me and like me. I cannot help but wonder if that is true. 

I agree that love is not completely about appearances, of course not. But tell that to the sneaky voice that is convinced I shall die ‘alone’ (in the ‘without any romantic partner’ sense of the word). Well, for what it’s worth, I am not completely averse to that idea. I envision a small orphanage/school I could start, taking care of the kids like they were my own, and living in a cosy place. I don’t think I would regret much in that life. True, there may be times when I would be plagued with what-ifs and how life could have been different. But then, what-ifs plague everyone, regardless of what they do. I think I would rather not wonder about love–if it finds me, I will take it, if it doesn’t, I shall accept it as my lot in life and proceed with my plans as usual. Sometimes, there’s really nothing else one can do, right?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Dancing Hearts, Flying Spirits

I kept on procrastinating writing this blog post for quite a long time. It has become quite a hard job, writing these posts every day. I was quite an ambitious person when I started, I guess. But here’s the thing, I managed to write every day during some of the most trying times in college. I have worked on this all this time that to stop now would be a grave injustice to myself. I am going to make myself do this for the entirety of this year. I owe myself that, I owe the Yashasvi, who, in her completely blocked mind found the energy and will to write a post. I owe the Yashasvi, who, when in a particularly low point in her life, still found time to write on this blog. I owe the Yashasvi, who, right now, despite the procrastination is still typing this blog post with eyes that are closing but she’s still fighting. For this Yashasvi, and all the Yashasvi’s before, and all the Yashasvi’s after, I will continue fighting, continue writing.

It is actually quite funny how I started writing in the first place. I had another blog, I started it when I was 14. I had been in tenth standard at that time, it had been our Puja holidays. Puja holidays were a 10 day holiday that came during the month of October. They would be at the time of Navratri, ending at the time of Vijayadasami. Vijayadashami was the day when school would reopen, it is considered an auspicious day for beginning any kind of educational/creative pursuit. Classes would start their enrolments on that day, my dance class would have a big event on that day.

My dance class also had a music class in it, so the students from there would start the function. The teacher and the students would sing a Ganesha song, and this would be followed by the dance class students. All the batches would go to the class on that day, we would present our ‘salangai’ (anklets, kind of) to our ‘gurus’ (teachers), get them and then the batches would dance for a few minutes. It was a symbolic beginning, it was beautiful. The higher batches would perform songs, while the smaller, starting batches would dance some ‘adavus’ (basic steps) only. It used to be beautiful, everyone would come in their best uniform, wearing beautiful dance jewellery (not the entire ensemble of course). This would be followed by students leaving, but they would be given this small package just when they were leaving. There would be a sweet (mostly mysore pak), a pen, a pencil, and an eraser. It was a small cute thing, and we used to take them back home with us.

I remember the first time I joined that dance class, it was after nearly 7 years in another class. I joined my first dance class when I was three, and when I was nearly 10, I changed. I changed styles too, from one different kind of Bharatanatyam to Kalakshetra style Bharatanatyam. I was very scared because I knew steps but I did not know their names, I felt simultaneously alien and familiar. I remember how I joined a few weeks before Vijayadasami, the Vijayadasami function was my official induction/initiation of sorts. I had never been to anything like that before. I felt like I was a ‘senior’, but I also was not a senior. I was in a very confusing position. I was also very worried, very troubled, apprehensive, not very sure if I could do this.

Kalakshetra style was different and more difficult for me, it required much more of me than I thought I had. All the other students in my class were doing so well, while I struggled. Moreover, it was the start of feeling fat, I was one of the bigger kids in class. My older class was not in groups, we didn’t have batches, we used to have one on one classes. I personally don’t want to enter into the debate on whether groups are better than one on one or vice versa. I find those debates to be quite pointless, both have their own benefits, and cater to different kinds of people. It does not make sense to compare, at least for me. But coming back to this, I could very easily see how I looked different, it hampered my confidence a great deal. I was already lost and almost ‘vulnerable’ position, this did not help matters for me.

But one incident that really stands out for me is the fact that it was during Vijayadasami, when, after the dancing and all batches were done, I finally made my way down the stairs to collect my package and leave for home. I went down with my parents, and I saw my dance sir there. He was giving the packages, he gave me one and he spoke to me and my parents for nearly 10 minutes. That conversation really soothed my anxieties, it gave me the motivation to try my best at this. I would say that my desire to dance and make him proud started there. I wanted to prove myself, show him that his trust in me was not in vain. He was a phenomenal dancer himself, his performances have brought people to tears, he was that emotive and good. But I did not see much of him during the initial periods. I saw more of my dance aunty, who also I adored but who used to fat shame me quite a bit. I grew used to it, almost, until I started resenting the treatment. I still struggle a lot with weight and body image issues.

I still am fat, still overweight, a fact that I am reminded of every time I see people around me. It just throws me back to the times when I used to be so scared of the dance costumes because almost always, there would be some problem. They would not fit, they would have some issue or the other, I grew quite tired of that whole ordeal. This was another difference from my older dance class since we had our own costumes there. We used to perform quite a lot solo, maximum of three people, not more–we could afford to have different costumes. But here, each batch, when they performed, they did it together. We rented out costumes instead, so there was the reason why I had so many problems.

Looking back, dancing was one of those things in my life that gave me so much joy. I loved the thrill of the stage, the thrill of the emotion, the music, the whole process. I thrived there, I used to love it. Cut to me now, who fears the stage so much that she becomes nauseous and dry heaves before any performance. It has been nearly three years since I left my dance class, and there are so many days when I wonder what would have been my fate had I stayed with it. I keep on wondering if I could probably retry, think of this as a break, a long one nonetheless, and get back to dancing. It seems quite plausible for me, it might actually work I guess. Sometimes, thinking about dance makes me feel so happy, like right now when I recalled these memories. They are beautiful, there’s something beautiful with stuff that set your heart’s flight mode on, isn’t there?

And that’s my memory for the day.

 

Perfect Shadows and Imperfect Selves

I found a poem I had written quite long back on shadows or rather specifically, my own shadow. Since I was young, I have struggled with weight issues. I don’t like talking much about it but it is this constant niggle in the back of my mind. I have always been the ‘bigger’ kid wherever I went. In the family, in my dance class, in school, everywhere. I have also been fat-shamed for it (in relatively harmless ways, of course). I was not bullied or anything, but I have been bombarded with small comments said as part of some light-hearted humour.

It was at these points of time when I started really wishing I had a thinner body. I still do, to an extent. I struggle with my weight even now and I find myself desperately wishing I was thinner many times. But that is a battle I am fighting by myself, a battle I think I am getting better at. I did lose weight in college and I am feeling better about my own body but that doesn’t stop me from the occasional disappointment I feel when I don’t fit into some article of clothing or when I look at myself in the mirror. But I have realised that more than my actual weight, it is more my own mind I am fighting against.

Where do shadows come here? Shadows in the evening under the streetlight always tend to show you as more slender and ‘shapely’ than you actually are. I got obsessed with how my shadow would move, especially because I wanted to be that way in real life. Not my proudest wish but it was something. I really wanted to be as ‘perfect’ as my shadow. It was graceful, slender and the best part, it had no face. My glasses, messy ‘ugly’ hair, nothing would be seen in that shadow, it gave me a sort of comfort I struggle to put into words. So shadows were my solace and I wrote this poem one night, spontaneously with the words just coming out of me.

I had gone out shopping and I had constantly been staring at my shadow as I walked on the road. The more I did it, the more I realised how pretty the shadow was. It completely consumed my thoughts and when I came back, I felt this overwhelming urge to write, to let out whatever I was feeling. And out this came and surprisingly, I read it now and then and feel better. It gives me some sort of hope and in times of despair (how dramatic am I!), the little things that throw some hope at me are all I need. I feel like a barren field that is finally feeling the first moisture of the rains, it fills me and makes me hopeful that I will be fertile again. And it is an addictive feeling, hope is and I am determined to hold on to this hope for as long as I can. I have rambled quite a lot now, so without more mindless drivelling, I present my poem (very creatively named, as you can see).

The Shadow

Streetlight hitting me straight

Rectilinear propagation, they say

A black form in the middle of the light

No light, a shadow, they say

 

It is so easy to fall in love

With the perfection of that shadow

Hideous hair and features

Masked by beautiful black

 

It moves smoothly, gracefully

With every ugly step

My gaudy shoes and clashing dress

Invisible in the sea of black

 

Taller, more slender

Even though it is me

It feels different

As though the light (or lack thereof) did something

Something to me

 

It moves and I see it

Stretching on more and more

And I try to make it stay

By stopping my ugly walk

 

The light is now behind me

Creating this magnificent creature

And the despair that I could never be it

Is enough, more than enough

 

I have got places to go

Jobs to do

And ‘move on’ is something

I must do

 

The shadow will get more and more

Taller, slender and beautiful

Till its black merges

With the black outside.

 

It is selfish of me to wish

That my shadow could be real

And the black that taints its (my?) soul

Knows that my wish won’t come true

 

Tall, dark, slender, beautiful

Everything I want to be, but am not

Why did my black shadow get it,

When ‘I’ did not?

 

But ‘move on’ I will

The beauty and attractiveness

Are everything but permanent

 

And when the light moves away,

I am what still stays

And while I am not as perfect

My heart is not as black.

And that’s my poem. I think I should end with what I ended my poem with. Just because my shadow is beautiful and something I will never be, I am not any less am I?

And that’s my memory for the day.