The firsts in life, are the most important and they, in some way or the other, tend to forge what kind of a person you’d grow into.
Like my first time when I ate a purple crayon, when I was pushed off a slide by
a mean boy, got my lip cut into half, and considered that as the highest form of violence, and then I slapped him for I believed in ‘an eye for an eye’ and got my parents into trouble. When I attempted in doing a few things only a male child would do and again got my parents into trouble. When I literally cried that I was not dancing to Kamal Hassan’s ‘Injirungo’ song on the front row, and that I was always at the last and then somehow managed to flash a near toothless grin during my original graduation dance night, from the first row. To telling my most favorite teacher to wear a blue color saree during the last day of kindergarten and then blushed and ran to one corner of our classroom.
To learning thamizh. To learning English. Two of the most dearest languages I hold very close, till date, in that order. To making two of my first best friends and getting disconnected and reconnected along the way of the past 21 years. All my firsts in a span of two years, two years which I vaguely remember now.
What do I see now? A way older, still short haired, wheatish, more chubbier version of the then white and blue clad girl with white shoes. She still experiments with food, is an angry young adult, but someone who knows how to manifest from that, will hit back, but only when provoked, who has only grown to become a major devotee of Kamal Hassan, who has made it a point to make sure that her presence is more than felt, who is still shy but will, by hook or crook, convey what she wants to, to people who matter the most to her. To still being in love with the first two languages she learnt, to still keeping only a couple of best friends in life.
As I said, the older versions of who we are, are mere forges, are shadows, are improvised systems of the cores we contain.