Home. Home feels safe. I can wear what I want to. Or maybe wear nothing, walk around naked. Sit with my legs wide apart, widest possible, trying to cover the entire bed, leave no damn space for no one.
Today I am dealing with these crappy mood swings. No, it’s not one of those days. There has to be no fixed reason as to why I feel a certain way. Not everyday is same. I wake up feeling lost one day. I feel crazy the other day. And then some days I feel happy. I look forward to the days I get up feeling sexy and beautiful. About myself. About being a woman. About playing with my messy hair. About life. There are days I don’t feel so nice about things. But I never forget to wear that smile along with the mascara, for people expect. Expect you to smile and look good. And yes, I like to go out. Go out often. Get a drink. Mingle with these beautiful people around. But there are times, I like to stay home. Or rather hide. The piercing looks of these animals (read humans) don’t make me feel so comfortable. I see them staring. Of course I enjoy some attention. Who doesn’t! But it doesn’t feel very incredible to get ogled at. I don’t think I need that to confirm how awesome I look today or how awesome my clothes are. My temporary mental status decides what I pull out of my wardrobe today. Sometimes I want to wear the prettiest Indian wear, and add a bindi. At times I want to step out in nothing but a loose shirt. And then there are days I want to wear the cutest feminine dress, and explore the world in my messy curls, looking for some company. But wait. Is the dress too short? Or maybe too much skin shows in this Indian Wear. The shirt lets you see my sultry long legs I don’t always flaunt! Ah well, frankly, it doesn’t really matter. I don’t know how I sound when I say this but I don’t see any variation in the count of pair of eyes laying on me, along with the change in clothes I make. Might step out in the most traditional wear, and still feel surrounded for crying out loud! So I feel like this fish grabbed out of water, restless to get back in, unsure if she would actually be able to feel the water run beneath her fins ever again. And similarly, I feel anxious to get back home. Home. Home feels safe. I can wear what I want to. Or maybe wear nothing, walk around naked. Sit with my legs wide apart, widest possible, trying to cover the entire bed, leave no damn space for no one. (Yeah, mom wouldn’t be too happy with that.) And then pull out a fantasy fiction I enjoy reading. And then I decide to call a few friends home. Most of them are not of the same sex. Most of them are men. I don’t get well along with girls. Maybe there is something wrong with me. And then when the hanging out session comes to an end, make sure nobody watches how there are different faces getting in/out of my house now and then. What would they think. Standing in the balcony, hiding a cigarette behind the wall, staring at the endless sky, and the buildings spread across the horizon, thinking what would they think. These buildings, these houses, each one with someone who feels the same way like I do. Needy. Angry. Tired. Excited. Worried. Look at these people running around. They look so tiny. As tiny as little crawly creepers. It’s too long out in the open. I need to hide now. Shut the door. Look at the mirror. Oh, how I need someone to remind of my existence, my importance. Remind me that I am beautiful and needed. Still looking for a happy place. Clock ticks again, time to stop painting pictures in my head. There is work to be done. I need to think about dinner too. How could I forget the gathering to attend before that. At least it’s going to be dark by the time I leave, thank lord for the dark evenings. The drink should help, a smoke would be just perfect. Only if I could do it as freely as I want to, without catching some attention. Starting to miss home already. But how I hate the fact that I need to quietly climb up the stairs when I get back at 2 in the night. For I don’t want the neighbours to judge me. Or maybe, I should not give a rats ass about what others think and expect out of me. Yes, that’s the solution to all this. Stop judging, stop commenting on my lifestyle. Always need to dig in a little more before you make that nasty assumption, depending on my habits, my ways and the kind of clothes I wear. Stop telling me what needs to be done. Stop imposing.
There is always an option. And option to #ButtOut of my way.
Just trying to state a few of the many problems I face being a woman, a few primary ones, not creating a fuss. No, I am not. And if you think I am, remember the option I just gave you? #ButtOut