HOW THEE FUCKERRY BEGAN...
I've been putting others in front of me for so long, I've long forgotten what I look like in front of a mirror. And literally. Because I lack an actual mirror too. It comes from a place of deep fear, yk. Making people feel like I really need anything from them, or have in any way set expectations accordingly.
Anyways, the earliest memory I have of me actively doing this is when I was nine.
The festive holidays.
Clothes shopping had to happen way earlier, before they hiked the prices up too daringly, and not caring meant one had to either match up or wait until after the trend wave for sales.
That year, I recall my mom, who used to relish taking us on that shopping spree and watching us choose some quirky-ass dress or shirt that we'd seen fellow kids pulling, was not in a good financial gap then.
She had been hinting that she was only gonna have enough for, say, my sister. Our lastborn, who she said would have felt plenty bad and accordingly raised hell about not dressing in killer clothes and duds.
I guess it was already decided, huh?
So I said nothing.
Other than I did not even care to dress up.
As if.
Anyways... I remember how big of an occasion it was. The whole lot of our extended and grown family coming together to celebrate the birth of Christ. It was a pretty big deal to us, staunch Christians as we were!
So every kid had made sort of a tradition of marching up to our fellow kins' homes to show off your festive attire on Christmas Day, plus taking a quick peek at what additions that family had made to the communal cooking, yk. Without forgetting to sip dat jussss 😂😂😂😭😭😭
So when that time for cleaning up came, I took me a good body rubbing, put on this black sweatpants I had plus a shirt, and bam! 😂😂 Plus my Crocs? I was shiny in all ways that mattered. I felt so nice and grown-up.
If only they hadn't laughed at me. Mocked my clothes as everyday clothes. All fingers pointing at me as soon as I popped out the corner, even a sprinkle of one or two grown-ups. 😁😁
I'd never forget how I felt.
That was my first glimpse of how being mature was gonna bite me in my sweet tooshie one too many times.
But in that moment, when I was standing there, feeling so very warm, with the biggest lump stuck in my throat that I could not, for the life of me, seem to be able to swallow, I remember glancing around, rapidly blinking, with a big-ass, I-don't-give-a-rat's-ass grin stuck to my face the whole time. While I proceeded to admire my cousins and whoever was selling something in there.
And with me always this off comment I'd taken time to coin beforehand:
“sikua najiskia this time.”
Come on. How lame was that?
Did life stop tho? 😂😂😂 No, it did not. Did I die? 😭🤣🤣 For a moment, I wished to. Willed it even.
No matter that that was the very first experience I remember of not feeling important enough. And yes, it might be that I washed myself into the background of these ugly and sometimes somewhat uncomfortable situations out of the need to not be noticed as, “She needs something from me, this one...”
Or something.
I don't know.
Urgh.
This beginning is quite dark, no?