my blurred life

What if the dance you must learn is not the same dance of the many? Do you fall and stumble? Do you stay in the corner not able to take a breath and take your first steps, or begin your own?

We are told we must pick one and that one will determine who we are. Our parents, teachers and bosses repeat this sentiment and belief. The choice we make at a tender age will be what we are judged upon and will be unchanging. If we make a wrong choice or stray off the assigned steps that others take, it is dangerous. This sentiment is more intense in the South Asian cultures, and even more so if you happen to be female. You must be studious. You must be humble. You must be obedient and chaste. This waltz is constricting in movement and range. There is no room for joyful leaps and jumps.

There are many dances, and I have tried. Each one of them a different kind, a different me. Those around me have already judged me. Judgment for just being in the family I was in, having the mother that I had. Our family’s distinct melody was a sorrowful, lonely tune.

I was already losing my beat. I had no choice but to try and be the different elements of the many different hymns in my life. Most of my past dances were disharmonious, fractured, and incomplete.

This rule of the dance of many, the steps we must take is one of the greatest untruths in our world. You can change your melody. You can dance. You can end up a full and happy person in your song.

The songs that I have had were that of an abused child.

The song of the unruly and crazy teenager. The partying and random, selfish acts. The lying twenty-year-old, The girl who kissed way too many frogs.

The song of a dull working and no fun adult trying to make up for lost time.

I am a mother and wife.

This song is filled with many beautiful and organic melodies, and they hum to me every morning and night.

I have fallen on my face. And I am not ashamed. I am regretful of the hurt that I have caused but not ashamed.

I have become a more empathetic, caring and thoughtful person because of my missteps.

My fumbles and clumsy steps of the dance of many made me appreciate when I did get it right. When I danced my footsteps, it has been genuine and pure for me. I know the pain of the past bungles of my wayward feet. I have faith in the power of evolution that we all have in our lives because I am living it here and now.

The reason I am writing this is there is no space in our world. In this prescribed narrative; we must appear perfect and unchanging. We must dance a rigid and dull waltz at all times.

It all seems like all successful people have known only one dance. This is a lie. They have broken free and have not told anyone... Why do we hide these different songs and melodies?

There is so much competition in the world; there is no chance of divulging your mistakes or vulnerabilities for our little tunes.

And I am aware this is in all us in one form or another. What can come out of this? Empathy and hope. A song we all desperately need to hear and to connect with.

"The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to create, to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love and to be greater than our suffering." -Ben Okri retrieved from https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/31425.Ben_Okri

They say that having young kids brings a lot of stress in a marriage, that it brings your personal past and issues out; as you try to do better with the little beings that are now in existence from the love that you had together. What if this is not enough?

They have been through a lot, and there is love, but what if that is not sufficient? What if she fails him? What if he fails her?

What if she stopped with the ever-raging “mommy wars”: the constant passive aggressive whispers that come from the background melding together into excessive white noise. “We never did it that way, when we had kids?”, “”, and all the little remarks that they are all guilty of as if they are at all an expert, of how they had parented themselves with no mistakes and with no regrets. What if she just stood her ground and just stopped with the constant passive aggressive games. What is she held their gaze and did not waver?

What if she fails when she goes back to work? What if the time away causes her to lose her place and the chance for promotion. What if she will never win at the office politic games. What if she never gets a chance because she is not their brand of cool?

What if it does not matter anymore, and she stood tall and for herself and on her own for her own. The need for perfection is in everything. No one can be the perfect worker, mother, wife or even friend but we pretend that we are, what if we just stopped, if we stopped acting. What if she stopped judging herself on the unrealistic and toxic standards that fill every role for her identity, what if she just stopped giving a fuck and instead embraced humility without the need for perfection; to allow herself to grow. What if?