Sheikh Fatimah Yusuf | 6A
Imagine waking up happily. You’re perfectly in a happy-go-lucky mood. You go to school or to work with the same attitude, wearing your favourite clothes, hairstyle, or even a favourite necklace.
There it comes. A cruel remark. A judgy comment. Maybe even something small like ‘Look who finally decided to show up.’ or ‘Chote chote log aaye hein.’
Just like that, your mood, your happiness, your confidence—ruined.
Just because someone had the audacity to insult you.
Worst part? Moments like this happen more often than we admit. But do we admit it, tell someone, or even write it in our diaries? Nope.
Guess we like to pretend it never happened so that we forget.
Not the way the world works, darlings.
Trust me, I’ve had these moments more than I can remember smiling.
And I smile A LOT.
They shaped the way I thought about myself for a long, long time.
But not now.
First of all, what does it mean to let opinions control you? It’s when you do something you love. Prepare for it. Build up adrenaline. But what happens in the end?
You hear that voice.
That small, insignificant, tiny little voice.
And it’s always saying ‘What will they think?’
By they, it means PEOPLE.
And people always talk about stuff that doesn’t concern them.
And then you don’t do the thing you love most.
Ironic, isn’t it?
At home, you’re a full baddie, with cutting remarks and stuff that makes people either shut up or turn their heads in admiration.
At work or school, you’re just a tiny mouse.
This happens to almost everyone.
One time or another.
I remember when it started for me. I was around 7-8 years old. And I started 2nd grade. I know I was arrogant. Snotty. A little spoiled. But even I had feelings.
I was super talkative.
I was bullied for it.
At first, I was so full of myself that I wasn’t affected. But suddenly, I was.
Every time I spoke, people would whisper. Someone would mutter, ‘Is hi ne bolna hai?’ People would say, ‘She’s a chatterbox, isn’t she?’
Like I was unaffected.
Like I had no feelings.
For God’s sake, I was a small child.
That tiny child, who could even set an adult thinking because of a witty remark, started shrinking.
Hiding.
Fading.
I stopped speaking much.
I stopped raising my hand and bouncing in my seat.
I thought twice before I spoke.
And my toxic best friend (now we’re not friends) pushed that a lot.
And as soon as I DID talk, which was rare, everyone would once again say I was a chatterbox.
My mother didn’t understand what was happening, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her.
And I felt as if people hated me.
Girls called me a loser.
A failure.
Boys would just get annoyed if I arrived.
They all knew about stuff that I didn’t. They always had phones in their hands. I had books.
They went to school. I didn’t go to school during the time of COVID-19.
I was at home.
I had no idea how it worked.
So it continued.
In 3rd grade, I was bullied once more.
Sure, I was way nicer than I ever was, a teacher’s daughter, the perfect little student for each teacher, because I did my work on time and was always one step ahead.
In my mind, it was ‘I’ll have friends this time.’
Fate said otherwise.
All the girls disliked me, especially since I was in the other section in the previous class. All the boys would just be annoyed because I was between a tomboyish girl and a girly girl. And I was stronger than them. I didn’t know what to do.
Countless times, I would come home crying.
And my family had no idea what was happening.
And it went on.
A girl even took the names of every girl in grade 3 and said that they and she were friends, whereas I didn’t have any friends.
I cried. So much. I was judged for so many things. My appearance. My long hair. My voice. My expressiveness. Being a teacher’s daughter. They believed I only succeeded because I was a teacher’s daughter.
Even on the length of the narratives I wrote for class. They all believed I was dumb. Or at least, acted like that. But the dark lit up for a small period of time once. A new girl came. She became my friend. We laughed, played, and did everything together. Until once again, my happiness was snatched away once more. So, it continued in grade 4.
No matter what I did, people judged me. For anything.
I don’t know why I felt as if I had to prove myself to them. The feeling comes sometimes, even now. The process would repeat every year.
I came to school. I got judged. I cried. And my confidence faded.
But something in me changed in grade 4.I started wearing hijab. People usually judged me on my hair, and how curly hair would suit me better, but I could never have it.
Now they couldn’t. Wearing hijab brought back a little bit of my confidence.
And when the next year started, the process repeated. I was judged.
Opinions were made about my enthusiasm, and framed as ‘overreactiveness’.
No friends. I only had a few friends. But I will say it.
5th grade became the best year of my life. It taught me so many things that I can’t even describe how grateful I am now. I would always be judged. So I was. They judged me. Tried to bring me down. I’d cry.
But did it affect them even a little? It didn’t.
I also had anger issues, so I’d lash out.
But then, I started writing down stuff whenever I was angry in my diary. No matter how stupid the reason for being angry, I’d write it. I remember I just felt angry for no reason, so I wrote whatever came into my heart.
Anything.
And in whatever type of language I wanted to.
Whether it was swear words, slangs, formal words, or anything.
Reading them now gives me an idea of how often I’d get angry.
But I had an outlet, and it helped me control my anger issues. But not the comments.
I remember starting to overthink things a lot and getting stressed out. I eventually had a panic attack. And due to this, I also got hepatitis A and E. I didn’t recover for nearly a month.
Was there any change in any person’s thoughts at that time?
No.
They kept on thinking ‘Oh, the exams will come in May, so we’d better revise, even though it’s just January,’ or ‘I need to improve A LOT, there is a lot of competition in this class.’
How depressing.
I learnt a new thing. The world does not care about you or how you feel. Mankind has always been selfish. Even the most empathetic people will be selfish in one scenario or another.
I eventually recovered.
But I came back different—more thoughtful, less sensitive. Before, for the past 4 years, I had thought, ‘Maybe I am so pathetic and crazy that people call me stuff like this.’
Has the thought ever come to you? It has come to me countless times.
But after hepatitis, I realised that I wasn’t the problem. It was the stupid habit of people to bring others down rather than rising themselves.
So what did I do?
I stopped staying quiet and started speaking again.
I talked to a few people whom I trusted, because it’s better to stay silent than to talk to the wrong listener.
I owned the fact that I was crazy, because everyone’s a little crazy.
But even then, I was affected by comments.
When I moved into grade 6, something in me changed. Literally.
Anyone who’d dare to comment on me would immediately get shut down. It was like an automatic reflex had been initiated in me.
I was witty. I was carefree in the comments. I didn’t care.
So what changed in me?
When I cried, I remember telling myself that I would find someone eventually. Someone who’d understand me. Someone who would love me the way I am. Someone who wouldn’t judge me.
But then, I realised, if that were to happen in a long time, wouldn’t I have destroyed myself by the time that person arrived in my life?
I realised something important. I was enough for myself. I only needed to prove something to myself. That not everybody needs to know who I am. That I should let people criticise the person whom they think I am.
I started caring less.I realised I was happier alone.I did stuff for myself.
Anything whimsical. Anything creative. Anything I loved.
I focused more on disciplining myself. I directed my attention to things that mattered. I realised I cried less due to this.
I was enough for myself.
This change helped me realise that I will only love myself. It helped me embrace my flaws and differences. And I was finally at peace.
I thought about songs that motivated me, or listened to those songs if my mother asked me to tell her a song I wanted to play, like ‘Royalty’ by Neoni, or ‘Darkside’ by Neoni. Even ‘I’m a Lady’ by Meghan Trainor motivates me so much. Songs such as ‘Hall of Fame’ give you the feeling that you’re enough.
Some depressing songs, such as ‘Darkside’ by Neoni give you the feeling that no one will ever know how dangerous you truly are.
I once wrote this poem in Urdu, and I call it ‘غیر اہم چیزوں کو اہمیت دے رکھی ہے’.
Here it is.
دن آتیں ہیں جب چّیرتیں ہیں لوگ دل ہمارے زہریلے زبانوں سے اپنی
جب زندگی لگتی نہیں آزاد، لگتی کہ زندگی ہے کسی کے قبضے رہتی
نہ سن اس کی باتیں کے تو ہے نیچا اور وہ لگائے گا تُجھ کو آگ
وہ صرف اپنی تشویش دیکھا رہا ہے کے تو ہی تو بہتر ہے، جناب
آتی نہیں کچھ چیزیں لڑکیوں کو جو آتی ہیں تم کو، و شہزادوں!
اُٹھ جا اور بن جا ہمارے مددگار، نہ سمجھ کے ہم ہیں تم سے نیچی ہی ہوں
لڑکی مسکرا کر نمبر بنانے کے لیے اچھی بنی آتی ہے
کرتی رہتی ہیں بُرائیاں اُن شہزادوں کی اُن کی کمروں کے پیچھے، پھر معصوم بنی آتی ہے
بنا پھرتا ہے شہزادہ ساری زندگی اپنی، جناب
پر ایک بھی بار لڑکی کو ہم پلّہ نہیں سمجھتا، جناب
ہم سب میں ہے امتیاز و تمیز، جانتا ہوں جناب
پر بڑھا دیتے ہیں مسافت ان کی وجہ سے جناب
رنگ، نسل، زبان، مذہب، اہمیت نہیں ان کی جناب
انسان انسان ہے، انسان سمجھ اس کو جناب
I didn’t write this blog to self-pity myself. I wanted to share an important lesson I learnt.
Remember this.Those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.And when you finally stop living for other people’s opinions, you start living for yourself.
When you finally learn to trust yourself enough, just enough, so that you aren’t affected by what people say, you achieve something amazing.You achieve inner peace.Once you stop letting other people’s opinions control you, something changes.Maybe it’s subtle. Maybe it’s explosive.
But you are finally free. Not bound by judgement anymore. And true happiness finally begins.
For more blogs like this, visit:
https://fantasiesandnolimits.blogspot.com/