Dear Ma and Baba,
“The conversation we had the other day was truly the most accepted and warm I’ve felt because of you. Especially Baba. It was unreal how empathetically you spoke, you valued my efforts over the results and understood my mental situation. I can almost say I’m proud of how well I raised you.
Jokes aside, today I want to be honest with you. All my life I’ve felt like a disappointment to you. Being your very desired first child is probably the last time I’ll ever manage to make you that happy. Sometimes it was you who made me feel that way, now I think it’s just me who can’t seem to undo this mindset. I have been a hot mess all my life and never truly made you proud.
I still remember Baba’s face that day, when I topped my class in nursery for academics. I was so young to even register the importance of it, but I don’t think that image will ever leave me. Maybe because that is the last time I ever created that image. The way my name was announced, the way he was so proudly clapping his hands — almost announcing that I am HIS daughter despite the fact that he was clapping the loudest. I had accomplished what society respected. I had lived up to his expectation.
But what was I to know? I remember all my emotions that day. I was excited about my father being in my school, which was different. I was standing with my friends, my eyes locked with his, waving at him whenever I could. When my name was announced I had no idea what that meant, what it stood for. For all I cared, it was the same thing as my roll call for attendance. But, my father was cheering. He was proud, he was clapping. This was different. And I wanted to feel that ‘different’ every single day. Even after the prize distribution, he was so, so elated, I could feel it in my bones. The young, naive me understood what made Baba happy. Except, I couldn’t really make him that happy for too long.
The following years I performed fine. In class 1 and 2, I won second place in academics, which would be my last of every appearing in the map of the top 3. Which would be my last of being the reason behind my Baba’s utmost happiness.
My younger brother kept my parents happy. While I was busy being bullied and broken, my brother scored well in tests. While I was depressed and suicidal, my brother distracted my parents from the agony of being my parents by his exceptional performance. He emerged as an academic topper every year in school, and even when he didn’t, he was still brilliant. While I was getting into puppy love relationships with guys due to all the loneliness and trauma school gave me, (that my parents were very against) my brother was the reason they didn’t regret having kids.
And I can’t be happier that he exists. He took the burden of being the ‘good child’ off my shoulders, so I could embrace the unconventional rebel I truly was. Me being a pain in the ass never drove you crazy enough because my obedient, caring, nurturing, helpful, disciplined and brilliant brother balanced it out. I just wish, I could do that for you, just once. I truly wish I could.
I would if I could. If studying was the only thing on my plate in school, I would. If I wasn’t desperately lonely unless I was dating, I would. If I didn’t need to make imaginary friends to keep me entertained during recess, I would. And in all this if I managed to do things that made you proud, I swear I would. Because I wasn’t born to disappoint you. Maybe I felt disappointed so many times that I didn’t recognise how I’ve become a disappointment myself.
For good or for bad, this is who I am now. Average. I am inconsistent, confused, purposeless, lost and honestly I’m sick of it more than anyone could be. I crave to be “normal” — to have a regular job, to like or not like but be able to do it until I retire, to get married and have kids, just like you want, just like it should be. But oh how I hate to break it to you… Baba, Ma, I think I’m broken.
I think of something today and change my mind tomorrow. Tomorrow, when you’ve already spent that big money, when you’ve already gotten your hopes high, when you’ve already dreamed of me there. The only thing that has been consistent about me is my inconsistency. And I hate it more than anyone else that I don’t take my decisions seriously. I don’t trust myself with your faith anymore. You’ll never know how that feels for me. I feel like I failed you. And yet I keep doing it. Brazen. I know.
I wish you didn’t have to suffer because of me. I don’t know when I’ll get the job I should. Or if I’ll be able to keep it if I ever get one. When I’ll take care of the family. If ever I can. I don’t know what job I like doing. I don’t know if I wanna study further. I don’t know when I’ll stop being inefficacious and start fitting in the role I need to fit into to make you guys proud.
I can’t believe you believe that I can crack that examination. I’m scared to death by the thought of letting you down once again. I was gripped with anxiety when I took the decision of attempting the exam. Not out of fear of failure. Out of fear of disappointing you.
Every day I wanna stay motivated. I wanna stay productive. I wanna work harder than yesterday. And yet there are days I feel unproductive, unmotivated, unfocused and lazy. I fear I’m doing the same thing I’ve done all my life. I’m anxious even in rest because I fear my fickle mind. I fear I won’t perform and I’ll fail you. Despite your trust in me. I fear being the black sheep of our family. Once again.
In all my fears, I’m trying to find my voice and myself. I figured I really enjoyed writing and started writing on this platform. I’m constantly exploring myself, finding new things that excite me and giving up on ones that don’t anymore. I’m renewing everyday. Hopefully, this approach doesn’t make me a literary vagabond. I truly do hope so.
I’m curious about life, about nature, about humans and myself. I’m empathetic, kind, understanding and caring. I love animals. I try to be honest and stand up for what is right. I try to be a positive influence to people around. I strive to be better as a person every day. I’m learning new things every other day, even if I don’t retain much of it.
All this might not make me money, but I hope it makes you happy. Maybe proud. Because I am me. Flawed but uniquely, me. I hope you can love and accept this me who I am and not who I could be. So maybe I too can truly love and accept this me.”
Not what I typically write, but I’ll stay true to my bio and keep writing whatever keeps my mind busy.
Can’t believe you read it all the way, make sure you say hi to me here!
