Sunday, May 14, 2023

Trauma Dump

The very first time I found out that I was an outcast and that I needed to hide myself in this world was when my parents accosted me both physically and verbally for having played with my mother's makeup, carrying her handbag and wearing her chunky kitten heel shoes. 

Another core memory was, after scoring highest in a subject in school and receiving my prize on stage in a ceremony with other top scorers, my mom, instead of being proud and congratulating me said something to the effect of this to me. 

When you got on stage to get your trophy, why did you walk so softly with your hips moving left to right, like a girl! You must stand up tall, clench your fists, walk like a man!!! It was really embarrassing!!!

Clearly this isn't verbatim because in addition to it happening in my childhood, it has been at least two and a half decades since this event transpired.

I would, in stages, mostly verbally sometimes physically, by both my parents, aunt and uncles, and elder cousins, be constantly accosted for; 

wanting to only hang out with girls or women,

wanting to learn how to cook,

wanting to have my ears pierced,

wanting to look at and play with beautiful sarees and pretty jewelry,

wanting to play with makeup,

wanting to only sing out the ladies parts in duet songs,

wanting to grow out my hair,

wanting to walk a certain way,

wanting to act a certain way,

wanting to move my hands a certain way,

wanting to cross my legs when I sat,

wanting to not play sports,

wanting to not play with boys,

wanting to not change together with the boys,

wanting to not sleep with the rest of the boys, 

(I know, I know, I play, change and sleep with boys now... HA-HA-HA)

wanting to not watch football,

wanting to not watch ANY sporting event,

wanting to do fashion after high school.


Trauma dump. What a curious thing.

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