There were days when we grew hips and tended to our hair, mostly because we were cautious for our bodies, not for the rightful reasons but for the luxury of growing up, becoming a girl fully aware of the attraction we hold on boys. It was like melted wax, a light bubbling along the lines of teenage years, exuberance that soon run out. Because as we grew, realities began to set in. we worry for things like what we should eat and bother about eating too much oil that causes pimples. Somehow I feel strange when I birth any intruder on my face because I rarely invite them. It is safe and pleasing to say I have a pimple free life unlike others I know. I hardly get any and when I do, it appears like a marked dot in the middle of the ocean. It bothers me because I suddenly feelstrange. I want to get it off. Somehow a stubborn one always persisted for as long as it pleases.
I wonder to myself, if you fuss so much about just one pimple that stands odd on your face. How would you cope if they came in batches or how do you expect others to feel? Frankly speaking, that should be none of my concern. I care about my body and as much as I do hope others should do so to, it really does not fall in my niche of concern. Maybe if we have some kind of mutual connection because when it comes to body matters, many dispositions are involved.
I don’t know why but my childhood memories usually appear faint. A deja vu feeling, wandering thoughts or some sort of significance connection is what makes me remember things. Things I had seen and the little things I had done like a child playing in the mud.
I was washing plates by the sink when my thoughts ran back to the first time I started cooking. My mind, I am made to believe is a phenomenon. Because I cannot remember the first time I started heating the pots and having the knife show me some cooking skills. Heck, I cannot even remember what particular things I did at some ages. I do not want to believe it is some kind of short memory thing. I think my brain indirectly neglect the things that makes other things not matter. Let’s just call it a psychology mess though I am not quite sure.
I worked out my remembrance between periods, trying to figure out the age and time frame I started going to school. I have no stress doing this, I think the periodical time frame helps my recollection. Such things as when I started to draw, tiny lined drawings with big heads or one particular period where I could eat a whole house, the time my hips started to come out or my crushed ego at failing a question in primary 5.
I remember the songs now. Halfway. The one we chant late into the night. It meant anything to me now But It catches my fancy today. And it somehow spreads a thin line of an awkward smile across my sullen cheeks. I have had enough to deal with inwardly that the chorus seeped through my mind and somehow want to sting my eyes.
No, I did actually got stung. I flutter my eyelids begging them not to spill because this my present façade of a being; against the one that wrestles inside will shatter the isolation of thoughts to anyone who comes asking what is wrong. They seem to have merge, finding a compromise to tell me hey girl, it is that bad you can no longer cheer and everyone will note it because you are not very good at hiding.
I was at the edge of running mad in water. I said to myself just before I penned this down.
Leave. Go outside and rage. Facing the toilet mirror and pour it all out.
A bolt was coming, I saw it coming but somehow I had fought it and stood my ground.
On the question of IDENTITY.
I Am Me, You Are Not.
I is another. Arthur Rimbaud.
There comes a point in many people’s lives when they can no longer play the role they have chosen for themselves. When that happens, we are like actors finding that someone has changed the play.
How do you see yourself? And,what is the most important part of your identity? sex, ethnicity, sexual orientation, class status,nationality,religious affiliation, your age, your political beliefs? Is there one part of your identity that stands out from the rest. Perhaps identity is a social concept of moving change; maybe identity change depending on who you’re with, what you’re involved in, where you are in your life?
Growth is change, to accept growth is to accept a change to oneself. Negative or positive. It is often said that we are of two natures, evil and good. The side we choose to nurture, determines who we are. This means we can determine the course of our lives and what we intend to do to influence the world.
If I decide to turn a thief or something else today irrespective of surrounding factors such as pressure, then it is because I chose to be a thief. Perhaps we cannot truly define what defines us and some of us may be weak to accept what lies within us. For those who go through various situations and are shaped by such, can we say that they finally became who they are by such circumstances? I do not think so. “What ifs” poses a string of limitations to that question. What if that is truly who they are and such circumstances shines a path to exactly who they are? Or what if, that is not who they are but issues beyond springs them into acting another life’s role play,
Sex and gender though used interchangeable is not my point of discussion here but it reflects a lot on who we are what we are to become? Would it matter if a woman plays the role of a man and vice versa? Maybe, maybe not.
Perhaps the question of identity should be based on how experiences plays us on the journey across life. Every point of contact is a determining influence on one’s identity. This is what makes identity a subconscious changing focal point. What I am today is not necessarily what I am tomorrow and what I am tomorrow doesn’t tell what I had been in the past. Perhaps, this is why we age, even our mind age with us. The things you knew as a child becomes clearer as an adult.
Besides the physiological elements, there are other factors, psychological and emotional factors attached to identity, things like emotional intelligence, self-esteem, personality traits, knowledge base, behaviors and more that demands how our identity is formed.
But identity is a question of experience and relations. Who are you beyond who you are?
James Baldwin may be right when he said, an identity would seem to be arrived at by the way in which the person faces and uses his experience.
Stacy pours hot coffee on my new dress, I am upset, the identity that says I am upset because of what Stacy has done even if it was a mistake. This is me, not Stacy, not you. If I choose to get mad at Stacy for long, then I may develop a certain identity in anger and may need anger management classes as my years advance, or maybe not. I forgive Stacy and move on. Another option, I learn from such an experience, imbibe the principles associated with such experience and let it determine who I am?
Perhaps, this is why the question of identity is a moving question in itself. Going back to Brian Moore’s words, what am I, what are you and what is he? We find new things about ourselves each day but our dominant identity, one that says, I am who I am and what I do is this, remains the same when we finally find it. When we find ourselves on certain roles only to switch as we age or grow, then someone else has changed the script for us, some circumstance, some person, some life event, something. Your identity is a question of experience; one that determines who you truly are. Know your identity or let others define it for you. What differentiates us is “I am me, everything that is me is me and what I do is me”
I am me, and you are not.
You are you and I am not.
What does identity mean to you? A deeper reflection of who your are or a superficial knowledge of what tags you are associated with in the society?
Watch this nice video i found on you tube, listen more.