Pens and Pages

Most evenings tension lines form on my forehead. Most nights I can’t sleep well. I make sure the door is locked, I make sure the windows are closed, the curtains are drawn, and one or two lights remain turned on. I don’t know if growing up means living in fear because you know too many truths about how the world works. I am not sure if I can call myself very practical or a little paranoid. They say a child knows no fear and they only acquire it as they grow up through various environments. It would be fair to blame it all on my environment- toxic, untrustworthy, full of criminals. But I seldom find any solace in being blame-free. I would blame my own fearfulness as much as I would blame the environment. It was easier as a child to forgive myself, mostly because I thought when I’d grow up I’d be perfect. That there would be no mis-happenings, if that’s a word. * One really cannot blame a thirteen-year old coming back from school in public transport, wearing a decent uniform, ...

I found it strange how men swam in the pool without seeming to feel even a tad bit uneasy about their less than perfect bodies, hairy, dark, with proud paunches wearing a swimsuit that was nothing more than a boxer While I, Another Imperfect Woman, Shivered in my suit, Wondering if more than my contours were visible, Even though it was dark, Even though the swimsuit covered what's "necessary to cover". My first swimming lesson And instead of feeling proud for having dared, for having tried, A Million Thoughts crossed my fearful mind. The fat belly. The fat arms. Hairy armpits. Sunburns. Chlorine. Shape. Shame. Thighs too flabby. Hips too large. Hold your breath. Keep your head down. Pull the suit's edges Let it cover some more skin. I need to wax. I need to look thin. My first swimming lesson And before feeling the fear of water I felt shame. And if perfection is the need only for women. Oh, I tell you, it's a...