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Holding on to something you love from your childhood even after you grow up, is beautiful.
Ever been judged about the choices you make? Well! Here’s my own story.
I have always been quite sure of what I wanted to do or make in life. It’s not that that the opinions don’t change, but I decide those on my own. I try to accept the thorns and roses alike, come whatever may.
“Still flaunting short hair? You’re in your mid-twenties, right?”
“You’re always seen decked up in jeans and tops! Don’t you like wearing sarees and salwars?”
“Still taking music and Karate lessons? What’s the use? You won’t be pursuing either of them as your career. So why waste time?”
I have always managed a calm composure during these type of questions being hurled towards me but I lose my temper too, sometimes. I mean we never experience the same mood, the same state of mind always, right? It changes with respect to the everyday chaos which starts with the traffic on the road and multiplies with the chaos at the workplace. So our mood is the most variable thing out there, I feel. I sometimes become dumbstruck thinking of how people jump into conclusions about the person they are meeting for the first time.
How are they being laughed at, mocked at, for the decisions they make? If I choose to keep my hair short, if I choose jeans over saree, if I still feel not quitting the extracurriculars, what’s wrong in that? Maybe I have my own reasons for it. But that surely doesn’t mean that I’m in my mid-twenties and I have to go abide by the rules set the society keeps in its store. I love short hair, so I want to keep it despite my chronological age. I love Western and Indian attire alike. It’s just that I find my jeans and top more convenient wearing them to my workplaces on a daily basis. That doesn’t mean I don’t love the eleven yards. I find it the most gorgeous outfit ever invented.
I love my music and Karate lessons and wish to take them forward, wherever I go or do. They are dear to my just like my work is. There’s no need to give up on them just because I don’t dream of a future with them. I like to rejuvenate my mind, my body after a long tiring day. They are my lifeline. Holding on to something you love from your childhood even after you grow up, is beautiful. Doing something you love is beautiful and the best part is that you have managed to save them despite your gruelling work schedules.
The way you want yourself to see is the most gorgeous thing to do. So, please stop passing your comments and try to be more understanding from next time you meet someone who doesn’t match your previous thinking. Maybe that person has something to offer, as well. The world needs it. We all need it. Believe me…
Image via Wikipedia
A nurse by profession.....I love travelling,music and martial arts......a bibliophile.....a raw writer read more...
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UP Boards Topper Prachi Nigam was trolled on social media for her facial hair; our obsession with appearance is harsh on young minds.
Prachi Nigam’s photo has been doing the rounds on social media for the right reasons. Well, scratch that- I wish the above statement were true. This 15-year-old girl should ideally be revelling in her spectacular achievement of scoring a whopping 98.05% and topping her tenth-grade boards. But oddly enough, along with her marks, it’s something else that garners more attention – her facial hair.
While the trolls are driving themselves giddy by mocking this girl who hasn’t even completed her school yet, the ones who are taking her side are going one step ahead – they are sharing her photoshopped pictures, sans the facial hair, looking nothing less than a celebrity with captions saying – “Prachi Nigam, ten years later”.
Doctors have already diagnosed her with PCOD in their comments, based on photographic evidence. While we have names for people shamed for their weight – body shaming, for their skin colour- racism, for their age- age shaming, for being a female- sexism, this category of shaming where one faces criticism for their appearance has no name. With that, it also has zero shame attached to it.
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