Stepping In (FINALLY)

 My annual comeback is here, you guys BWAHAHAHAH! Your favourite inconsistent writer finally returns with the yearly Ichthyosis Awareness Month post. The way I’ve been reminded of and scolded multiple times throughout the year to post more often, but how could I miss this tradition of ours? I write this as if I’ve built a community over the past four years.

ANYWAYS, now that we’re past the self-deprecation, let’s get onto today’s write-up. As mentioned earlier, there will be an Ichthyosis Awareness Month post, but in the near future. Today, we’ll start where we left off previously. Adulting.

I wrote that article when I wasn’t “officially” an adult; I was just seventeen. However, all these changes thrown at me since then in such a small timeframe certainly aged me. July 2023 was the beginning of a crucial chapter of this journey. Almost a year since then, and I feel like an entirely different person. As Om Prakash Makhija once said, “I feel like the KING of THE WORLD.” That’s how I felt in the beginning. It was seemingly an ideal situation. Getting into the college, I wanted to and everything. I had started talking to people beforehand, thinking it would be an easier boat to ride if I knew them. Who was going to drill it into my head for the hundredth time? How different it was, talking to people in real life and on text? Even though it helped to some extent, everything was far from what I had expected. It was a classic case of “from a smaller pond to a bigger one.” I don’t know if it was a fish or a frog in the saying, but I’ve never related more to these animals before. 

To start, the first semester felt like a year getting through. My assumptions of not having issues fitting in or being accepted were just that, assumptions. I felt like I was back in school. I could constantly feel this judgemental gaze on me as if I had committed treason talking to them. I felt like a fraud. What do you mean I can’t do something that is literally a part of my degree? The thought of being unable to connect weighed in so much that I couldn’t keep it within myself anymore. It had come to a point where Mum had to ask random people to care for me and be good friends. All the progress made to not think of my skin condition as my entire existence was now down the drain. We were back to square one. The comfort I had grown into with having this condition was all forgotten. I wondered if it would be easier if I were “normal”. The grass is always greener on the other side, I guess.

Not having a roommate for a major chunk of my time there did not help much either. I remember Mum staying back for a week longer to help me settle in, and since she lived nearby, I would walk to her hotel every night till the very last day. I wished for some miracle to happen so she could stay longer. I think I understood separation anxiety a bit that entire week. I wanted to cling to her. She once told me, “You were such an easy child as a baby, never cried for school, loved talking, talked as if there was no tomorrow. Interacting with people came naturally to you.” I wonder if she wonders what changed. I do, too.

After a point, you realise it’s neither an ‘other people’ problem nor a ‘you’ problem. It’s just a problem. Your brain can’t ever shut up. You shake when talking to people. You stop yourself from starting conversations with people because of that. You expect them to approach you first, and when they don’t, you assume the worst. After hours of trying to figure out whom you want to talk to, you take a step forward but are forced to turn back when you feel judgment coming through.

You know, teenagers, actually, people who move out or start living by themselves in general, are like sea turtles. Let me explain. When they’re born, sea turtles have to find their way back to the sea alone because their mothers, given their names, can’t survive on land for too long. In this process of getting back to the sea, most turtles require help—a role model of sorts. Humans, that is, our parents, in this case, are like helpers. They can’t exactly get you to your desired place, but what they can do is provide a nurturing environment for you to grow, which most of them do. But then, all of a sudden, you’re expected to find your way through the mess alone at times, much like the turtles. (Stay with me, okay, it will make sense.) On our way back, we find friends, acquaintances, whatever one would like to call them. Just like the role model a turtle requires. And sometimes, you find the right ones, and sometimes, the wrong ones. Sometimes, even unexpected ones. There's this peace, this calmness with the good ones. However, when you return to an empty room at the end of the day, waiting for it to be time for your parents to be free so you can call them, you feel a certain hollowness within you. But, when you finally do, you can only smile and tell them how exciting your day was. This reality check was, I guess, necessary for me to finally step forward into the big, bad world. No matter how bad the previous day was, the next morning should not hint at any of that.

They say there’s a difference between being alone and being by oneself; how comforting the latter can be is what I’ve learnt. From being dropped everywhere and picked up to travelling alone in public transport is some progress, right? (It is.) Going alone to places out of pettiness and pure vengeance just because no one wanted to and making the most out of it while you’re at it is still a step ahead. Progress is progress, okay? We don’t discriminate around here. Jokes apart, having people around me was still a want, just not a need anymore.

On my way to becoming this “independent” person, I also picked up a new hobby to latch onto in public. Photography. The camera doesn’t hide anything from the viewer and captures the moment for the photographer. I don’t know what I was trying to capture precisely: photographing anything and everything in sight as discreetly as humanly possible to avoid interacting with people around and embarrassing myself. Who would have thought this tactic of mine would become one of the only ways I connect with people anymore? A certain innocence peeks through the camera when a person is clicked. It’s as if they are a child again; you’ll see giddiness in their eyes while getting their picture clicked, especially after seeing it. The camera made me want to talk to people.

However harsh the place might have been to me initially, I had now taken comfort in knowing my routes, even in not knowing them but revelling in exploring. (My map history says otherwise, but obviously, we don't talk about that.) At the end of the day, it’s just me and this city.

If y'all get the intention behind taking examples of fishes and turtles, you're a real one. (hehe)