I’ve noticed the incessant urge people have to label me, to label anyone really. It’s as if the words they assign me would contain me and tame me, perhaps reduce their fear of the unknown.
-the eccentric one
Every label has some hue to it. I’m painted with it even before an introduction and for a long while I felt trapped by these brands. I felt the need to be placed in the ‘right’ category. Appease,please,compromise. I bent over backwards to squeeze myself into a fanciful label.
Two years ago I underwent an extensive Maskectomy. Now for the scientifically challenged, maskectomy is the removal of one’s mask which was invented by yours truly 🙂 . Instead of trying to pigeon-hole myself, I embraced all the different sides of me – the weird,the weirder, the good.
That’s when I realized – the labels that people assign me have nothing to do with me, and everything to do with them. Those who peer behind their self-imposed labels,boxes and masks . The labelling is for their convenience, because they can’t be without a label and thus can’t see without one. It threatens their very existence.
Now, my staunch rebellion scares them. When they realize I’m a label-less one, they scurry off to their hiding places. Which I’m cool with ,by the way. Because I like staying out after midnight. I like the blanket of darkness that covers me as I lay down in the grass, stargazing. I don’t mind the grass stains on my black jilbaab , and my loyal Vans are made for mud.If you want to hang, I’m cool with that too. But please, remain quiet and listen intently. Haven’t you been told that it’s rude to talk while the stars are telling their stories?