Anam SheikhIt’s a week before Eid, it is time for the annual Eid shopping, my parents, brother and I head out in our quest to find outfits that slay for the whole family. Eid is the only festival in the entire year we celebrate as a family. It was special to me. Every year Eid shopping would bring me one step closer to understanding what my vibe is. What colours I like more, what style of kurta suits me more, what kind of sandals and what jewellery should one match with the whole look. That year was even more special; it was the first time the twelve-year-old me was confident enough to point towards a bright and glittery white Anarkali and proclaim it as my Eid outfit. My parents supported me.
It is the day of Eid, a super excited me is thrilled to get into the shimmery white outfit with the matching silver sandals and red bangles. Eid tradition used to involve visiting my grandmother and spending the whole day with the extended family, eating delicious food, visiting other relatives and eating some more food. I look at myself in the mirror, fix my dupatta and confidently walk out of my room, already imagining the long list of compliments I will come back home with in the evening. As I enter my grandmother’s home in Sadar Bazaar, I head towards the kitchen to greet her and my aunt, eager for the stamp of approval. I say Salaam and they look at me in horror. With a worried look my aunt says, “Anam, tum itni kaali kyun ho gayi ho?” (Anam, why have you become so dark?). That was the beginning of the worst Eid of my life. The whole day was only about meeting people and them being shocked at how dark my face had become. I tried to be brave about it; I made it till evening before I broke down completely and went to a corner to cry my heart out. The twelve-year-old me wanted to become invisible. Finally, it was time to go home. As I stepped in front of the same mirror, I was so confident in front of in the morning, I inspected closely to see what everyone else saw. Apart from being the worst Eid, that was also the day I decided to not be friends with myself anymore. My newfound confidence had disappeared completely. I decided to quit playing basketball as the long time spent in the sun made me tanned. From that day, I only looked in the mirror to find my flaws. Why is my hair so frizzy? Why am I so fat? Why Is my skin so dark? Why are my teeth so crooked? Why can’t I be ‘normal’?
As time went by, I learnt some tricks on how to hide in plain sight.
Rule No. 1. Wear black clothes as much as possible.
Rule No. 2. Tie your hair the same way as much as possible.
Rule No. 3. Don’t talk too much, might draw attention to your crooked teeth…. The list went on…
After spending a couple of years mastering the ‘plan’, I had successfully become invisible. I had become the shy and timid Anam that had no voice of her own. I had unfriended myself. For a couple of years, I did everything to try to ‘fit in’. I had made myself the background performer in my own life, afraid the being in the limelight. I figured nothing bad could happen to me if I don’t get noticed. After a while it started feeling good to be invisible. It made me a good listener, made me observant, I started enjoying being a fly on the wall. But there was always a part of me that never found anything I did impressive, always wanting to be like someone else around me. Never happy to be with me.
Here’s the thing about growing up, as you grow up the number of people around you keep reducing. Life keeps forcing you to face yourself in a way that it didn’t before. The original ‘plan’ of wanting to be invisible also meant not being too good at making new friends. A couple of years down the line, I started finding myself more in situations where I was completely alone. Not lonely, alone. It forced me to speak up. To express myself. Even if I didn’t know how to speak up using words, my hands did that for me in the form of my drawings. It was my safe space. A space where I allowed myself to go rogue. It was away from the judgement of society. Unexpectedly, I started enjoying my own company. I liked what I created, it was a place where I could experiment, be curious, be brave. More of my time was spent filling several blank canvas and pages with colours, sketching shapes and objects in detail. I started enjoying my own company. It soon translated to other aspects of my life, wanting to dine out at my favourite café alone, going to the theatre to watch a film alone. Doing little things without waiting for others to approve of them.
After years of trying to get rid of everything unique about me, I realised it just wouldn’t happen. No matter how much I tried, I would always end up finding something that was a ‘problem’. I learnt to accept those problems. It was those problems that made me ‘me’ in the first place. No matter how hard I tried to fit in, those little sparks of uniqueness would always manage to creep in through the cracks. Whether it is the clingy pimple friend of mine who likes to overstay it’s visit or that one attention seeking strand of baby hair on my forehead or those stretch marks on my waist that lowkey make me feel like a tiger. It was an extraordinary thing; I had learnt to be friends with myself. Learnt to accept me for who I am and not what society wants me to be. I started learning to become the main character of my own life. A work in progress. I am learning to see myself as my constant companion, one that I can rely on.
Today, as I look back at the worst Eid of my life, I am saddened that being called dark made me cry. It was what made me unique, it’s just that people around me couldn’t accept me for who I was. I wish the world was a little more kind to the little me. That we all understood how deeply words affect us and that it often takes years to heal. It doesn’t matter anymore whether people approve of me or not. Their scrutiny and judgement has brought me where I am today. It made me find so many of my flaws and it made me accept them eventually. It’s those marks we try to hide that tell our individual story.
Remember Rule No. 1 of the plan? It has now been replaced by wearing white as much as possible, a bright and glittery white which the twelve-year-old me was so confident about.
