I was born as free as you were.
I wonder why I should possibly straighten myself out, brush away the flaws and smoothen the wrinkles from out of my life when I have to present myself in the society. I wonder why in the world I have to dance to the tune of the typical aunties in my society who tag people as good, very good, bad, hopeless and okayish. I wonder why in the wide world we have been told to act a particular way, behave in a way and talk yet another way. Some days I wonder if I was ever born free or if my life was based on the people in the society who label, tag and expect the world around to dance to their tunes and fit well in their picture frames. Some mornings I wake up to think, “What if I like a different tune to dance to? What if I want a slight change in the music and a different genre of everything altogether and you out of the band? And what if I am not in the mood to fit into your picturesque and fit myself into a frame that I am not proud of?” Some days I wake up to step out of the boundaries you set for me, break through the hedge you made for me and the thorny fence you fenced around my dreams, plans and wishes. On some days when I try to fit in with you, dance gracefully to your tune and fit pretty well in the picture frames you put up for me I hate myself for being the slave, for being voiceless and letting myself be trampled down to nothing and caging my dreams and passions to the stigma of the society and the line of restriction from my strangely pious family that simply believed in class and dignity in terms of the jobs I take up, the clothes I wear and the life I lead.
On most days I have been told to shape myself, carve out my insecurities and fit in well in the jigsaw puzzle. I have been told to fit in, curve myself, lean forward, submit a little, stoop very low and never even think of falling down and go missing. No matter how hard my days got and how pathetically my dreams washed away in the sea, I was told to stay put and give in myself to the wrath of the waves and the cheekiness of the little kids stomping on me all day and night. Most days I dance to your tune and let you shape my desires and my ways but oftentimes I wish to be the crack on the pot that gives you away, that spills the soil onto the garden. I wish to show my resistance by simply leaning forward a little too much and down to the ground. I do wish to be that cranky shred that pushes forward a little too much so as to fall to the ground, let the soil spill out, the water to flow out of place and the roots to stick out. On some days I wish to be the reason this pot was changed and the cactus/chrysanthemums on me be plucked out to be planted on the ground.
I wish to be the reason for change, a difference, an obstinate resistance.