my secret diary cont.

Having let someone down. I am tired of that feeling I thought I had rid myself of such feelings.But no, I still have to live with them. Escape seems impossible. Having let down , my father , mother sister, inlaws and continuously being in the process of receiving regrettable resigned head shakes from my husband, I now have graduated to earning that feeling from my children.

I have fallen short of every one’s expectations. I have never cooked what they like. My efforts with their lunch box are almost always unsavory, either in quality or in quantity. I have never found their correct books, never remembered or found time to do their project. Never spend time with them, am always busy doing things that dont appeal to them, definitely not like the mothers that are shown on tv or what they seem to be in watsapp forwards.

I am possibly the most self serving human walking the earth. Always interested in things that are completely irrelevant to the people around me.

my secret diary

I did not want anymore the burden of identity. and here I had quashed all my chances already. I had assumed I would be the very oldest person in a class. In any given classroom. At forty in our nation we have already gone a long way ahead of that point of life , the best point when when one actually expects to learn lessons. In the easier way, where the only exams are on paper and in classrooms.

I wanted no one to know I was a failure in life. That I had run away from the life I knew because I had given up on it. I wanted the freedom of drifting like leaf in a whirlwind, like straws on waves, without the responsibility of living.

Each day brought with it new complications. Complications of existence and not fading away. The first day we were to make our selves known. Like shadows from enemy countries. Names, places of origins and families were discussed. We were praised on our particular courage in coming to a new country to start from scratch.

These were people who knew. These were people who had seen it all. Looking at the faces of the new batch, it was plain as written that we had mostly given up on our struggles and fled. There was comfort to be found that barring two , most were lost souls like me. But they had the luxury of hiding. I did not.

So my identity was established, as a former teacher, as a mother of a ten year old son and a six year old daughter. I now had the weight of proving myself full of feelings of overpowering motherly love and utmost concern for my children.

I love my children , but i cannot bring myself to display it in the manner of facebook posts, which make mothers akin to Gods. I am ashamed to admit, I often wonder what life would be to be utterly alone.

I loved my husband, but not in the cloying way of romantic movies and valentines day cards. I would never wish ill to either parties , but this market gimmick is something I don’t understand.

I will I feel never profess my selfhood the way the modern world expects a woman to impress upon the world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My secret diary

I should have walked in naked. May be then they would not look at me the way they did. It was an international class, people from all over the world were expected to be here , one of the few places in the world that was not shutting its doors in your face. Unless you were white , unless you already had a lot of money.

After the first shock wore off  they rescinded their attention, may be they were too embarrassed for the utter shamelessness of it. I had walked in covered from head to toe carrying the burden of my identity and a collective weight of violent occurrences across the world.  It is ten years since the world changed for ever, in the modern history we know the day as 9/11.

Mentally i reminded my self that I was supposed to be prepared for this , physically my body quivered with the attention just afforded to me. People were taking too much care to be polite. Tutors, colleagues every one was careful of giving offence. I was a walking talking warning it seemed.

I did not mind it, except that I was looking for obscurity. I came from a country already in chaos, where we were in a minority, where we there no longer seemed to be any guarantee of returning home safely. But that was not my reason for moving away from home.

My reasons I wished at times would be as simple as fear, my reasons were far more complex. I wished to be among the linear minded majority of people to convert the world in to the happy sepia tones of black and ivory, of we and them. My burden was the ‘I’ , I did not want anyone to discover that.