Wide Awake :)

 This one, if I make it out fine, I would like to dedicate it to the divine mother, SHIVA AND SHAKTI, and to the purest of forms of Devi, Devtas I have known. My name is Natacha, and the following is my story. I was born in 1997. Precisely, on the 25th of April 1997. As far as I can recall, my childhood was filled with health challenges (placed in an iincubator at birth. Reportedly been underweight 1.4 kgs) as well as barriers to my survival. 

First and foremost, I was born with a condition commonly known as cerebral palsy. However, despite it all, when I reflect back at my life journey, I can see different versions of myself. For instance, back when I was a child, I, too, did not necessarily feel burdened by the condition. I remember how, I used to participate actively in school. I liked to participate a lot when it came to ideas sharing, back in school. I was often referred as the bubbly, sweet and talkative girl back in school. As a child, my main hobbies included watching cartoons, spending time with my parents, and being with my grandmother. 

My mother’s pregnancy, when it was my time, was quite complicated and risky for the both of us. For, being born around 71/2 months meant that I was going to be a premature child. At the time of my birth, relationship conditions were quite rough between my parents, as a result, I, along with my mother, spent most of my time, at my grandmother’s. At that time, my mother used to work night shifts, hence, I stayed with my grandmother during most of my childhood. In this way, I grew up with my cousin and my elder sister. We would often play hide and seek or be pacified by one of the best jhoola (swing chair) that we had at my grandmother’s. 

At the very beginning, my relationship with my father was difficult. I can only recall a few times in my childhood, whereby, he would take me in his arms. The rift, was according to my mother, mainly due to the fact that he would refuse to acknowledge me as one of his own. It’s only around a few months after the delivery. I do not share any mutual emotional connection with my father. However, I respect him more than anyone in this family. Even if sometimes, I find him unfair. Naturally, this relationship was fed with both fear and respect. FEAR because, by nature, my dad is known for being strict, and respect, because that was who I was on the inside. As a result, I would find myself, more likely at ease opening up to my mother whenever I was confronted with a crisis situation emotionally. Most of us, looked up to my parents, as a couple, for they shared an understanding and a chemistry that made both my cousins and myself in awe of them. So, who was I amid all of these people? 

In my early twenties, I was the life of the parties, my father would hold. As daughters, we were meant to dress our best, and keep the guests engaged. While my sister, along with my mother would be catering for what would the menu of the day be. My father seemed to have quite approved that I was painted as the girl who would speak to everyone. At that time, sometimes, I would be painted as the most desired girl, or the slimmest one. Besides, at that time, most of the eyes that was looking our way; would be scrutinizing us, based on our taste in outfit, looks, hairstyle, among others. We had to fit what they understood as right size, right figure to be considered beautiful. 

This is pretty much where the obsession with how we seemed to them started, while at times it would be manifested in the forms of comments on how thin or fat we looked, we were often judged on what we used to wear. I must admit that, whilst living in a small house taught us to be grateful for what we have, no matter big or small, on the other hand we were constantly nagged amid a sense of constant competition we had to face in terms of social status with our other relatives. So, as siblings of two, we both developed and struggled with self-esteem issues. I look back at our journey, and I can see the wounds, the traumas, we both are still trying to recover from. Not everyone would know about this, but behind, the happy faces we showed, there also lies the memories of our childhood hurt or neglected selves. 

In truth, the trigger and intent behind writing this extract, justly, was to explore those unhealed versions of us. Maybe to find an understanding, to check in whether or not these wounds have healed or not. I remember how on the slightest instance of being scolded by our father then, I would hide away or talk to someone online just so I do not dwell on the hurting. Yep, that also meant that I needed to be around my phone at all times. However, I was more likely the one to forgive, but not forget. 

As part of which, I was rather the one to think twice, even thrice before trusting people. Besides, take it from my personal experience, I have known men for the real monsters they could turn out to be, be it out there on the Internet, or in real life situations. I probably owe my understanding of the world to the harsh lessons being once victim of the social network traps and instances of being wrongly approached once led me to. 

Or the number of times, be it me or my mother we were often approached by those weird perverts on the streets, while I was still young. As I started growing up, I guess it was stored somewhere at the back of my mind, that if I’d be bringing someone into my family, it would have to be the opposite of what we experienced as being traumatic or triggering in the past. Maybe, this is how I understood that for how deeply I feel things and care for others, I would probably take longer to find my soulmate or the love of my life, as they would like to call it. This is most probably why, I have known various souls that accompanied me, rather than persons, at the different stages of my life and existence. 

I keep craving my conversations with Nick for the past few years. Our present moments and the little moments we spent. I know Mellie said that I was sounding too obsessed with him. But honestly the thing is I miss our vibe. Even if I know he might be of the view that we might not work as couple. But we were once friends. Every Time, I think of him, I can literally sense my pineal gland vibrating. I would like to believe that part of the reasons why I’m so awake is somehow connected to what we were and what we had. This in no way means that I forgot the good and bad times we’ve had. Now that I think about it, I find myself wether this was really just infatuation or some kind of ideolized bond I had had with him, that at times feel so difficult to let go. Maybe I did get a little obsessed about that. Then, there were also my efforts to spiritually purge myself. 

My mother said that I was looking very much affected by all of that. But I guess it simply was because I had this strong sense and habit of looking up to these people to become a better version of myself. Which remind me of the child who grows up holding at heart the people he would like to resemble in terms of character. I could cite famous stars and businessmen. But I guess, growing up in a middle class family, I’ve known the honor of watching the evolution of my elders struggling their ways out of the poverty cycle. I truly hope that the readers will not be confused by this very statement of mine as a declaration of materialistic perspective. Instead mentioning this might help both the readers and myself understand my shift in mindset. For example, despite being born into a struggling family, when it comes to financial independence, I have known days where I had to skip school as we had very little money. I have seen both my mother and father eat less to either feed us or get us to go to school. Maybe, verily, this is where the girl that never learnt to give up was born. And God knows that even if I might sound slightly focused on earning money, it doesn't necessarily come from the wanting to own everything mindset. Does this sound unhealthy? I think most people from that social class too feel this kind of pressure. And, I was no different. Except, in my specific case, this pressure was and still somehow is highly influenced by different dynamics. To name a few, my disability nature, second, the required amenities around mobility for wheelchair users, third the multiple stereotypes around cerebral palsy and lastly how all that contributed to me seeing myself as the flawed, troubled 

being.