Joke’s on You, Joker

How long before someone becomes a burden too heavy for you to carry? Or how long until you yourself become that burden? It has been a question that has been plaguing me ever since I had the conscience to make friends. But it has been bothering especially after I made friends who I got close enough to be truly vulnerable with. Suddenly it is like I want to share my sorrows with them and seek support but it is simultaneously accompanied by the worry, “how much is too much? How long until they leave or decide that you’re probably not worth their time?” Not very encouraging thoughts, but then when have I ever cheerleadered (I doubt this is even a word but it is still a cool word to use) myself on?

It is quite funny because when I was younger, I was constantly told by my grandmother that I found it easy to make friends. She had seen me at the swimming pool one day and I had just managed to catch a couple of girls with whom I was talking (in retrospect, I believe one of those girls didn’t really like me that much and wished I would just leave her be). When I came back to the house, my grandmother just smiled at me and said that, with that ability to talk to everyone and anyone, I would go places. It is quite true, people can go places with the ability to talk to others, too bad that as time passed and I grew more aware of myself (a bane it truly was), and with that came the horrible withdrawing into myself that I had to effect.

I think a major part of this change in my behaviour was also the fact that I was constantly reminded, in many spheres of my life, that I was worthless and had things that were undesirable and worthy of scorn. It started from inside the family to outside and well, these were the only two places I existed in (or rather, could exist in). I never got the opportunity, I believe, to form deep friendships because I never let myself feel like I could show or should show vulnerability.  I had to stick to my role, the joker, the one the joke’s on all the time, because well, surely everyone loved the joker right? So with nothing else in me that could ever be loved or liked, best to make myself into something that will surely be. What a farce.

I think until now, part of being the laughing stock of anything at all only reminds me of my self-imposed typecasting. It only brings to the forefront the times when I had to consciously make myself the joke because otherwise I might not be loved as much. And so I think I unconsciously try to be the dumb person who fumbles and mumbles and is a bumbling babbling baboon because I have, for so long, attached my identity to it that to not have it is to feel empty. There, I have said it, I cannot imagine myself as being a non-joker or the laughing stock of a group. And no, this is not about my own sense of humour and ability to make people laugh by smart comments, it is being the cause for other people’s laughs by degrading myself (at least in my head) and being dumb. And when people reinforce it, the performative just becomes all the more believable, reified, if I may. It is a messed up logic, but don’t we all want to feel loved at the end of the day?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Shifting Times, Shifting Me

Today is an important day for me, it is the day when I can freely, guiltlessly select ‘yes’ in the countless forms that ask me “Are you above 18?’. I am actually extremely exhausted and tired, while also simultaneously excited for my birthday. My birthday led me to a crisis where I spent my time wondering how quickly 18 years had passed, and how I had nothing, no place where I had shown myself and made a worthwhile impact. Now of course, me being who I am, a thousand of these existential crises occur every day, I can become quite the public hazard.

Added to that, we are moving houses here and so, the whole day was spent in moving, packing, walking, basically every action that surrounds the act of packing and moving. Packing is a difficult job, but today, I struggled especially because of this one special crisis, or maybe I shouldn’t even call it a crisis. I was reminded of the many other times when we packed and moved, it means a complete upheaval of life as we knew it till that point. When you are already thinking about your impending ‘adult’hood, a reminder that everything was going to change, especially in the form of packing and moving houses, was not something I was very keen on welcoming.

But you see, things that we are afraid of and keep at a distance are exactly the things that seem to come back and bite our derrieres later. There was a point of time, in fact, just a few days back, when I was jumping with joy at the prospect of finally becoming 18. I am one of the youngest in my batch, the child, so to speak and I spent a lot of my time last year explaining to people that I did not skip a year in school. No, I might look that bright and smart, but I did not skip a year. I would be 19 when I graduate, just turning 20 maybe. People are shocked sometimes, they are already 19, they tell me. Then they pat my head and say, ‘how cute’, hmph. But I think secretly I enjoyed those little moments when I could be a kid, the one that needed protection and head pats. Seriously, head pats, they are so underrated and need to be brought to the mainstream ASAP.

I have slept intermittently while writing this post. Being back home has made it quite a struggle to write every day. My parents don’t understand why I have to do this. Honestly, I have stopped explaining it to anyone at all, why writing these posts matter to me. It has always been difficult for me to have a consistent enterprise, I always used to lose hope and motivation. I do not want this blog to be a failed exercise, and I will continue trying my best to make sure it isn’t. Yes, there are times, like today, when it gets extremely difficult, but I think that’s when I have to woman up, take charge and be the adult that I know I can be, regardless of whether my age agrees or not. After all, if there’s anything I can take from myself, age is just a number. My turning 18 today is not a sudden change, the world doesn’t suddenly look different to me. It is, for all facts and purposes, just a number on paper. I am not going to drastically change because of this, and that is not a bad thing at all.

I guess, it is fitting that today is the best day for me to post this book–Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. It was a book that changed me the time I read it. A heartbreaking, heartwarming story, I came of age reading it. Today, as I celebrate my 18th birthday, I present to you, Little Women.

It was a rainy, Chennai day when
Huddling in a blanket, I travelled to the
House where little women found their home
I missed father, I hugged mother
Peeked at the large mansion right opposite
I ate Jo’s burnt toast for breakfast,
Sneaked up on her kissing Laurie
Cheering in my head, only to relish that
Painful heartbreak when she rejected him
Cried for the people I lost, you ‘beth’cha
Tasted those pickled limes, dripping down
In the wasted droplets of salty tears
Little women, I became one of them
Attaining maturity

Looking back on these 18 years, there are so many things that I wish I could have done. So many skills that I wish I could have learnt and picked up on. But then, I also realise that a regret-less life is near impossible to achieve, there’s always going to be at least that one thing that we wish we could have done. Just like my houses, my identities and ideas will keep shifting too. There’s never going to be that one stable ground that will be stable throughout. But that’s okay, I can make my peace with that, I can learn to handle the situation as it arises. After all, I did not spend 18 years on earth to stay without a fight. A fight I shall give, and I shall make it a good one. Who said you cannot wrestle in the shifting sands?

And that’s my memory for the day.