I will admit, somewhat shamefully, that I have tried and failed many times to write a memoir that truly captures my story. Here is my newest effort, one that I hope will help me gain closure in my real, non-virtual life.
Thursday, October 15th, 1998.
I enter the world in Lahore, Pakistan, yet another spark of consciousness filling the world. My mother had a C-section during my birth, as she did with my older sister four years earlier and would for my younger sister four years afterwards.
I would add some small paragraph here that included some dark, foreboding phrases for my infant-self's future, but I am much too tired, in every single way, to do so. All you have to know for the moment is that I have grown to become a person that I myself am unsatisfied with and somewhat afraid of.
Yes. I am afraid of what I am, and what I will become. Sometimes I have to remind myself of who it is that I really am, if any true character even lies behind the pettiness of my soul.
But let us not dwell on that for now, but on the tiny person lying bundled in her mother's fatigued and aching arms, quickly being passed around to what little family came to see their newest member and back again.
Her barely-opened dark brown eyes take in the sterilized world, unaware of the impossible road that would be traversed as the years fly by.
Even at this moment, as she is in lying helpless and sinless, a multitude of labels have been permanently branded onto her silky-soft skin.
Girl. Weak, lesser, submissive, unworthy, servant.
Pakistani. Brown, desi, coloured, different, dirt, illiterate, lower, ugly, undeserving.
Muslim. Uneducated, fundamentalist, terrorist, oppressed, violent, nothing but traditional.
The list goes on-
Naturally for the first few years of my life I had no understanding or recognition of what my innate identity meant. I had and have no qualms with my original form, but the social perceptions of what each part of me meant and implied are one of my greatest frustrations.
These have led me through many phases; becoming reclusive, hiding, composing a shell around my shunned self.
And so my story begins; me, born quietly into a world that cannot and probably will never learn to fully accept me for what was not at all my choice, at any point in my life.