Today I’m not the writer; I gawk in awe at this woman as she’s orating on her life and journey. I’m just holding the pen while she’s penning down her words –
I’m an ordinary woman who has lived a trite life comprising of a bag full of remarkable experiences.
My early memories are blurry now maybe because the dark ones have spread over them. But I can tell they were heavenly, for I still hadn’t known what difference ‘being born as a girl’ could make.
It wasn’t long before the realization struck when, suddenly, the revamped version of all the early training of my life was crammed into my brain all over again – how to sit, stand, talk, dress, eat, smile and even cry whenever a male of any age was in the vicinity.
By the time I fathomed why, I was into womanhood and my naive soul had been deeply wounded. Whenever I sensed some fresh air to breathe in, the evil, oxygen-sucking trees surrounded me from all plausible directions. They belong to a humanlike devilish species called ‘society’ which decided to judge how pure of a woman I was. Long story short, my feet were tied to the pillars of their opinion of me.
In continuation to this phase I entered another – Motherhood. Divine was this stage, full of new experiences and learning. I realized the truest form of love and sacrifice, as I witnessed my daughter wobbling through the same road that I had traversed. But trust me, it wasn’t the best stage of my life.
The best had just arrived, at the age of 65. I’ve seen all, heard all and sensed a lot. The fear of judgement and embarrassment is now replaced with enormous respect and pride for the path I’ve walked.
One hell of a journey it is, girl – she ended, laughing.