I don’t think about things like identity much. I try not to, at least. It’s one of the things I’ll never get right, and it feels much less overwhelming when I don’t take much notice of it.
Is my identity looking so much like my mom that people think we’re the same person
Is my identity my nationality
Or my height
Or what my Math teacher thinks of me
Or whether I have the capacity to maintain an Instagram feed?
My identities are so different for every person who knows me.
To some I’m an artist, to some I’m a nerd. I’m evil, I’m kind, I’m a girl, I’m a tomboy.
I’m supposed to be good at Sanskrit because it’s in my blood.
I’m supposed to study engineering because everyone else does.
I’m supposed to be outgoing because connections can’t happen gradually, or studious because that’s the only way I’m going to get anywhere in life.
Let’s face it. I don’t know which of these things I am.
It scares me to think that people have so many opinions on me and I don’t even know them. It scares me that my friends have changed and I have changed and the world around me is changing so fast.
I’m in a phase where I’m questioning almost everything around me. Some questions are stupid, and not knowing some answers kills me.
What does it mean to be Indian? What caused the Coronavirus? How do computers really work? Do I believe in God?
When people around me are gossiping about the latest Chicken Girls episode or talking about someone they hate I feel myself thinking that this isn’t where I want to be.
I want to meet people I’ll end up really caring about. I want a place that I can call home. And I want to be someone I’ll be proud to call me.
Maybe at some point it won’t matter that I forgot to watch a show someone asked me to or that I forgot Holi is coming.
I can’t be everything that every person wants me to be.
And as of now, that’s the only thing I’ve understood about my identity. The uncertainty of it.