When we’re younger, we have versions of ourselves we desperately want to be. Often shaped by material possessions, status symbols, and the validation of others, these expectations become our aspirations, our obsessions, and they are damaging.
Maybe you are not where you’re supposed to be in your life plan. And maybe that is perfectly okay.
9: 51 pm.
My vision is blurry, and my temple throbs from sitting here. Here, in this sturdy chair. Sitting here in this bedroom. Fingers scattering over the keyboard. Switching tabs. Hunched over this mahogany desk frame. The occasional swig of chai.
There are deadlines. There are repercussions for failing to meet those deadlines. There are priorities and numbers that mean something to the Duriba I want to be in fifteen years. The clock is ticking, and time is slipping away.
But I am weary.
I put the pen down. Sigh.
I am sorry. I am sorry I cannot be who you wanted me to. I am sorry I cannot smell like lavender all the time and have curly tresses that bounce a little every time I take a step. I’m sorry. Oh my god I’m so, so sorry.
I am sorry my skin is tanned now, and I am sorry I have acne spread like constellations across my cheeks and jaw. I am sorry I am not doing what you wanted me to. That I am not as happy all the time as you would have liked. That I don’t have many friends. Or that I don’t have a hunky boyfriend who resembles a Brown James Dean and plays the violin.
I am sorry that instead, I am chubby and that I have an ugly laugh. That I’m very egotistical and that I’m not as tall as you would have wanted me to be. But I am happy. I am happy right now. I enjoy slouching over when I walk, and I am not embarrassed of the tiny hairs all over my face, legs, or stomach. I love the tape that binds my shattered glasses together and the mess in my bedroom. The frizziness of my hair makes me feel like a lioness.The paint stain on my jeans makes me feel like an artist. But most importantly, all of these things make me feel like Duriba. And there is no better feeling.