Calling My Pride

I sit there looking funny, supporting other funny people.

PRIDE

The word that is associated with LGBTQ.

What does pride mean to me?

What does pride mean to the other non-LGBTQ members?

Isn’t being a hippie or a punk or a member of a minority subculture demands a PRIDE?

When I look into a dictionary, the only definition that satisfies me and doesn’t play with my mind is that of having a sense of positive ego, a healthy sense of narcissism.

PRIDE deals with gender identities and sexuality and the difference between the supposedly normal world and the queer world. 

Why should everyone be indulged in PRIDE?

You can say you are unique. But you are not. You are just a brick in the wall and you will always be that brick. Even if you are a famous actor, a musician or a soccer player, you still fall within a subculture. You are still surrounded by the people, who do the same job as you.

The difference stems in the popularity of a subculture or a group.

If you are from the subculture whose residents comprise of famous singers, you are more prone to enjoy fame.

But, unfortunately {not really}, if you belong to a minority subculture, you are shunned down, looked down upon.

So, it becomes hard for us {yes, I am a writer of the tribe}, to live a normal life. And that is why; PRIDE is an essential and important way to protest, to interact, to show.

And that is what pride is about.

PRIDE shouldn’t be devoured by them. Instead, this must be a time of the year, where different minorities who have faced prejudice; who are constantly fighting for their pride; who have been still even sustaining the torrents of bullying and violence.

PRIDE is a celebration of different, awkward, queer and not particularly LGBTQ. Pride shouldn’t only be about them, but also about the ‘looked down upon’ subculture.

 A Letter: A Memoir of Desperation and Frustration

I used to be different. Now i am different.

Dear Well-Wisher; Care-taker; Friend

I HATE YOU.

Yes, you heard that right, I hate you. From the core of my heart, my soul, every living cell of my body, I will hate you.

I hate you, for what you have inflicted on me.

I hate you, for what you are doing to me. 

I hate you, for acting as a bridge between my soulless body and my humanity.

Every time I look in the mirror, the visage seems familiar, but I still cannot recall “EXACTLY”, where I have seen IT.

I had left IT all behind, in my past.

You have ruined me.

I am so frustrated and desperate now. I loathe myself for accepting and embracing IT; my old-self.

 I’ve always considered myself a fairly emotional person.

But, that was all behind me,

I drowned the person in the deep oceans of pacific. I tied a big boulder of despair with IT, so as to make sure that IT won’t see the light of the day.

And then, I ran, as fast as I could, as far as I could.

Because, that corpse would remind me of a pathetic, emotional person, I was, at one sort of time. I thought that I would never encounter it again.

But the fates had it.

Now everywhere I look, I see the scoundrel, the imposter, the ghost, staring at me coldly, grinning at me.

And I run {yet again.}

But this time, I am not alone.

IT; myself, is running besides me, catching up to me, like my shadow.

What I cannot decipher: After so much pain, after so much sorrow, after so many tears, why is there a little part of me that is intentionally slowing down, so as to feel the intimacy of a ghostly touch.

Why, even after what I’ve done to my doppelganger, can it ‘as well’ accept me back and try to reunite.

I am afraid of running now.

I stay, I stay and I stay.

And surprisingly, it does too.

IT hugs me and sleeps with me. We make love. We reunite.

Now, out of the blue, the moon is brighter; the wind is rhythmically cool; the birds are chirping violins.

I cannot understand.

After that one night, the rush; it is so hard on me. It is as if all the latent emotions, that I have put in a box, sealed and burnt, have cornered me. They are seeping into my skin, not one at a time, but they are bombarding their tiny Lilliputian self, to the giant I am.

And it hurts, it hurts real badly.

I do not want to feel it, not anymore. I thought that I had came a very long way, that I won’t have to suffer anymore.

But I was wrong.

I have been traversing in the opposite direction. I am till so far away from the goal post.

I am paralyzed with feelings. And even after that, I am still crawling to reach the destination, to get the grand prize i.e. the power of acceptance, the same old love, who I never embraced fully.

Thank you Dear Friend.

Thank you for giving me someone to direct my loathing towards. For giving me goals, that I would shrug off of my shoulders. For letting me hate you.

And so, I will continue to hate you, continue to hate myself, till I reach and win and embrace.

Why inflicting pain on your skin is of utmost importance.

I know the fire is going to burn me, but i have to stay close to it, because I crave its warmth.

Time and again, we are reminded that human beings are social animal {emphasis on the word animal}. We can never live in isolation. We always need to exist in a circle; interact with different people; stay with the people we adore.

But sometimes any relation {and not only the one with romantic tones, can be father-daughter, friends, etc.} can fall ill, and as a result become a toxin.

In such cases, you just cannot afford to let yourself loose from the ties. The epiphany. Why? Because they are your family; they are the ones who are an integral part of your existence; they are the ones with whom you have shared moments and memories. 

The most effective way you ask? Just pick up a sharp object and dig it deep into your skin till the rosy fountain ooze out and paint every inch of your fleshy canvas.

What would happen? It would prove to be a great distraction. You would spend more time ogling the physical, rather than going onto the next level.

How would it help?

Whenever a scar appears {out of the blue}, we spend a lot of time looking after it; hiding it; covering it; healing it so that we do not have enough time to get our minds rolling in action.

And that is the most important point, to never let healthy thoughts get to your soul because you do not want any fodder for rejuvenating your soul and then traumatize it to get back to its pathetic self. You would never want to lose that person from your life; you would never want that toxin removed from your spine. And as a positive result {and this is great}, you would be covered in more and more cuts, tears and will be bathing in an enchanting scent of a wounded flesh.

Exciting. Isn’t it?

Written by: The scars on Andre_Gennie.

Writer’s Note: I am so glad to be covering up for him. He was destined to write a new post, but chances had it, that he hopped onto some urgent and important chore i.e. succumbing to my advice. So for a few days, you can expect me to be at your service.

Looking for my freedom

Looking out into the light in hopes of stumbling upon the missing piece of the puzzle

When I look back to my transient steps, I see a bubbly person commanding attention. To him, spotlight felt good; the only thing that mattered. He used to assert things with utter confidence. In short, he was a very bold and flamboyant person.

The winds deviated from their path.

Now, I am just a regular guy, who attracts ‘limelight-adjacent’, who is demure and shy, with suave undertones, but an inability to express.

What changed?

Is it the fear of being rejected? Is it the fear of not being good enough? Is it the fear of being very different from my peers? Is it the inability to adapt into the societal construct?

Whatever, the reason is, it has completely modified my foundations. The fear has seeped into my spine and now is circulating through my veins.

At the very moment, I am afraid. I am afraid that people would notice me; I am scared that they would have their fingers pointed at me; I am frightened that they would recognize me.

Because of all the scars and the hazy adolescence, I have learnt to be dominated, learnt to be shy, learnt to never answer back, learnt to bow down.

Still, there is a blurry voice, in the back of my mind that tells me, that I have to rise again, that I have to fight again, that I have to find the one thing that is keeping me from becoming a my own vanguard; the one thing that is my own fear, my own enemy. And that is why; I am constantly hiding and blending in with my surroundings. I am trying to vanish, trying to become invisible to the society.

But at times, I muster up enough courage to glance out of the window {secretly} in hopes of finding out the one thing that I lost; the one thing that I am yearning for; the one thing that I owe up to my past self.

The antidote to my sick spine.

Why I kept Silent?

These lips do not part at the time of distress. These lips do not voice for themselves

Why is it important to teach our children to respect the individuality or traits of a person?

A few days back, I was in Lodhi Gardens, a Delhi landmark with some of my friends. We were there for a small picnic, a reunion sort of thing. The place was beautiful. The breeze, the scent, the aura, Oh!

There were all sorts of people, groups, couples {a lot of them}, school children, joggers, etc.

Once we were there, I saw some children {probably 5 or 6 grade} fighting amongst themselves {you know typical petty things.} I wanted to be the hero of the story, so I went to stop the fight.

What do I get?

They started grinning coldly, asked me whether I was a guy or a girl.

Embarrassed to death, it brought back old memories.

In my old school days, I used to be the centre of their mockery, but I prepared myself for the circumstances {after all 4 years is a huge time to get used to.} Ever since I graduated from the place, I did not encounter all those taunts and comments {and in this period, I came to embrace it}, so naturally, I let my guards down.

Hearing that again, I was extremely shocked, my jaw was left open, my ears turned red, the back of my eyes got wet, but I kept calm, and as soon as I knew I would be vulnerable {yet again}, I put on a hard façade.

They even asked me whether I was ‘gay’ or not {and by that they actually meant whether I was a transgendered person, no offence but the likes of those, whom we encounter once in a blue moon.}

Words do hold power.

Then, I came to realize, that these pupil are unaware of the real meaning of the words they are using. How hateful and rude they are being to a certain community just for the pleasure of it all. How their interpretation of the lingo is so derogatory and demeaning. How they have never learnt in any of their textbooks to respect a person and her/his identity.

Why is that so?

Is it because, these people see me in a different light? Is it because, the dominant trait in me is that of a very feminine person? Is it because, the society has tagged me as different {not unique, weird?}

I guess that may have been the reason.

Anyways, I went on my way, while the words echoed in my ears. I tried hard to forget, but it is not the easiest way if that trait is the very spine of your body.

This made me wonder about, other peoples like me, who do not know how to be more masculine, how to get through this stage, how to face all the hateful taunts, how to ignore them, or in extreme cases how to shut them down.

Trust me friend, I am still looking for the answers.