Shame.

The affliction does not strike one and all under the sun equally, but rather picks and chooses its victims and then lingers on- quite like a never healing scab that you pick at randomly in times of stress and boredom and eventually make it so bad that it turns all these weird tints of peach and vomit brown and some godawful rust until you begin to suspect that it might be cancerous. I do not over exaggerate, for the scab in this affliction lies dormant in some cases for years and years until it chooses a moment of greatness (actual or pitiful- however bad your own luck is) to say, “Hey there, recognize me?” and you’re screwed.

For the unfortunate ones like myself, these “Hey there” moments have been far too many and more frequent than I care to acknowledge, because if I do, it would require even more years of therapy than what I suspect in my head, I need, at this point in time.

These “Hey There” moments are a killer. They are responsible for all the damaging friendships you try and sustain, for poor work decisions that promise the glory of rebellion at the end of the day, for all the bad relationships you get into and keep blaming yourself about, and primarily, for the way you feel your entire life. And so, each time the collective society ‘coyly’ tells you to adhere to a certain custom, what they are actually saying is this, You do this and it will shame your parents and shadow your sister’s future of a blissful matrimonial life and affect your brother and your khala and mamu and chacha and taya and basically, the world will crash because *points a finger* FOR SHAME!


I don’t generally get angry. I’m probably that girl you see who walks around the office space (and in your daily routine) without ever getting noticed. I’m the girl who doesn’t wear a lip color even on Christmas or Eid, because she loathes the attention it brings to her. I’m the kind of girl you ask for a tablet when you get a headache.

And so, I’m the kind of girl you think you’re cool with until you notice me one day fuming because that day, someone finally managed to piss me off. That is the day you notice that the kind of girl you thought I was, I really wasn’t.

I like to think of myself as a no one and a no body. This isn’t because I have self esteem issues (I do, FYI), but because I’ve gone through that stage where you actually realize your true worth and nothing and no one in this entire universe can take that away from you.

And so, I don’t get angry easily.


What is shameful is how you teach your son to ignore the tears of a woman. What is shameful is how you exploit your daughter’s gender to force a man to his knees. What is shameful is how your wife is covered from head to toe as you walk in front of her in a marketplace while you ogle at other women. What is shameful is how you claim to be jealous of your husband’s female friends but don’t think of anything as you meet your male friends alone.

When you shudder and run in the opposite direction at the mention of a mental illness without acknowledging the ones you are responsible for in another person, that is shameful. When you clip the wings off a butterfly because your tradition demands her captivity by your despotism, that is shameful. When you call her your daughter and then violate her very soul to appease your propriety as your son watches in defeaning silence, that is shameful.

And worst of all, the guilt you leave her with each time she speaks to someone about what’s in her heart, that is the epitome of you being shameless.


Like I said, I don’t do anger.

But I sincerely hope that one day all the guilt and shame you instilled in me, comes raging back to you in the evilest black form, and as you look about for a ray of hope, you realize that the only chance of you ever having one was dumped by YOU at her lowest.

)

Arooj Muhammad Akbar

Written by

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade