Updated: Mar 21
When the Sun shines upon my face, I’m merely a human being who hates Mondays. As I brush my teeth, I am a concerned person who curses herself for eating all those chocolates when I shouldn’t have. I look at my breakfast cereal, and I’m a consumer who is scared about all the calories that define my self-worth without my conscious knowledge. While I book my Uber to the university, I am just a frightened girl who remembers feeling unsafe in the metro, but a privileged woman who can afford it; at this moment, I am also a feminist because I understand the importance of intersectionality. As I sit in my cab and scroll through my Instagram, I’ve detached from the scenery around and into the virtual world where nothing seems to be wrong in people’s lives; there are no dark skies, only pink skies radiating the Sunset. I come back to the real world, and I’m now someone who reminisces about simpler times without realizing I have things for which I have gratitude. What am I now but the product of this virtual world where things I can touch hold less value than what the eyes merely see?
As I sit in my workspace, I’m a motivated student; I have high hopes to change the world, but unrealistic enough to think that I’m supposed to change it and bear all the burden single-handedly. As I read up diligently, I am a person affected by the epidemic of the Mental Health Crisis; I remember I have not taken my daily dose of mood stabilizer, which is why the fight is a little bit harder today. Speaking of fight, I’m also a soldier. I battle depression every day, and on most days, I win over it with the help of my anti-depressants.
When I feel better for a few days in a row, I’m an impostor to me but a conqueror to my therapist and psychiatrist. I think I’m cheating the world by being stable because I’m not really stable, but my therapist explains that I’m not my Mental Illness, and I deserve to have good Mental Health Days. Some days I am someone who takes that advice and lives with it; on other days, I’m a guilty person who thinks of it as a facade.
As I slip in my bed at night to write a post on self-care, I am someone who actively advocates for it to shun the industry which sells us products based on our insecurities. While I look at my breasts and feel sorry that I get to have bras only in beiges because somehow these people think we might not make use of a raunchy cheetah print. I’m still learning and unlearning, and it is confusing. I am a hypocrite to some, but I’m a traveler on a journey for some.
Finally, as I take a dose of melatonin to stop my anxious mind and take a good night’s sleep, I am a dreamer who hopes to wake up tomorrow to make the world better because the Sun is waiting for me. One day all of these identities will become one with the universe, and we will see them billions of years after as a single celestial star.
So, who am I really, if not a star in the making, with complex and overlapping identities that I refuse to fit in one box until I am in a casket?