The Resume with Blue Lines
You are more than just a résumé with blue lines.
I wish you understand this beforehand. I mean to warn you about it. It’s horrifying. It’s nerve-wracking. And it isn’t you.
Ever since you joined school, you have been taught how to ‘top the class’. Good reports mean happy parents, happy teachers, and maybe even a scholarship. Things were fine for some time. Then, as Sharmaji ka beta made an epic entrance in your class, everyone set him as the measure. “Do as good as him,” they said, “he is excellent!” And you fought and strived to achieve everything he did. And everything your teacher taught you. And everything your parents wanted you to do. Everyone was happy, right?
No. You weren’t.
Even as you trudged through primary school, you were turned into a sack of expectations, broken dreams and log kya kahenge. A burden that was, if not heavier, as heavy as your schoolbag. The society had its ideals, and refused to accept anything other than that. They set up checkpoints to measure your success according to what they wanted you to do. “Bas 60%? Bhabhi, aapka beta toh padh nahi raha!” was what your mother would constantly hear. And the remark found its way of lashing back at you, whenever you mentioned low marks.
But you’re not a report card full of marks.
You’re not. Honestly.
You’re a masterpiece. You’re unique. You’re special. You’re you.
What you’re doing right now, isn’t living; it’s filling up credentials. It’s ticking off a checklist to become at least as good as Sharmaji’s son. Finishing pointless tasks so you can sit for an interview and be selected for the same job as a hundred other people. Is that what you are? Do you even know what you are?
You’re art. Every shining star of achievement in anything you’ve ever done glitters on you. You’re the first poem you wrote. You’re the first basket you scored. You’re the first crayon you held. You’re the first test you solved brilliantly. You’re the first song everyone praised you for. You’re your first crush.
You’re art. Every drop of shining blood on your wounds, every scar of yours is unique. You’re the first heartbreak. You’re your first learned lesson. You’re a lesson learned. You’re the weeping child at night. You’re the hidden tears in the morning. You’re the slightly puffed up stomach, and cramped legs. You’re your first ruined painting.
And everything about you is beautiful.
Every star glitters for you. Every scar defines you. You’re not a report card. You’re so much more than that. You’re human. And it’s the best thing to ever be.
No single-page description can summarize how awesome that is. No profiling page can ask you the right questions. Because you don’t exist to fill up a résumé. You exist beyond that.