I touched 30 2 years ago this day. Age-shaming much? No way!! it's the media and ads that live in a fearful world, so they scare others too. But the questions deserving perfect eye-rolls and facepalms always stand in a hungry queue "Oh! You are 30 something? you look so young." Someone please tell them. "Darling, 30 is young" "Why you aren't getting married?" Why, because ring in my fingers and a toddler on my waist is the only way to complete me? Sorry to have a bubble bursted but I'm not society's Life planning math workbook or biological ticking bomb that defines my worth by following some bully timelines. I wore a cape of womanhood after so many frostbitten scuffles and relentless struggles that now it graces my flesh and bones. that's quite enough to be the last piece of my life's puzzle.
Journey of a timid 6-year-old trying to identify her father in a star, he said he would look it down from there, to becoming a woman who saw her mother churning herself and tending to her lost kid with 3 shifts under her wing; All this unchained a treasure I don't ever want to part with.
My twenties were a wastral in terms of people I invested in. I let my innocence and ignorance turn alarming snoozes into blazing red flags of friendship that assassinated my self-confidence. But, now I know leaving toxicity while it swirl in a whirlpool of blame games, is not just okay but a sign of strength; of not justifying self for the smallest things.
I am finally In a better place mentally, psychologically, financially yet they want to find a manicured other-half to see me 'settled'. They say the world is changing I'd say it always changes but on the surface because they don't dare dip themselves amidst broken layers of depth, so ignorantly, add some 'must(s)' in a women's life.
I know It's the smallest feat but if you ask me I am proud I got to know myself. I know what I am now I know what I want My passion dances on my eyeballs with a clear vision. I don't feel like that rusty old book at the corner of the shelf no one picks up to read, anymore. I am that freshness of a newly opened pickle jar that instantly fills the surrounding with its aroma. I'm now the potpourri of self- reliance I learned over the past years and the kindness I had been carrying since the childhood. I'm those 32 no stones left unturned whose efforts made people get inspired. Believe me, there is no expiration date to learn something new
I have accepted the fact It's not easy finding metaphors for self while I blacken the white pages with their praises, accomplishments, triumphs. But from now onwards I'd audaciously write about my self because no one writes about the writers and I'm here to break the wheel.
At last, if you want to sway with yourself listen to "It's hard to be a woman" From Something in the Rain I am just attracted to that song.
You're like a song on the playlist of this heartache strumming the chords of my pain over and over again.
Nostalgia is looking at me with sad eyes, watching me suffer from undiagnosed Last Song Syndrome stuck to my vocal cords.
The music is over still, I keep humming, a desperate attempt to remember which part of the lyrics we went out of tune and began hurting each other.
Was it when you sang all by yourself when we're supposed to go on a duet? Or when I paused to catch my breath because I knew we're off-key?
You're like a song on the playlist of this heartache the anthem of this pain, the hymn I always sing even if the melody that links our heartbeats and breaths is a lonely refrain I sing alone in the rain.