Can I please be sad for a while?

I’m twenty. I keep saying that more in disbelief than anything else. There are certain standards that society (or whatever that weird fog around us, suffocating us) puts before us, and we are expected to follow them. I like to believe that I have one of the most understanding and mature parenthood one could ask for. I’m very close to both my mom and dad, in different ways. And yet they manage to hurt me the most.

Right now, I’m sitting in my room, legs shaking, fingers shaking, because my mom yelled at me for missing a doctor’s appointment. A doctor who’s ‘treating’ me, and so I’m expected to spend three hours in his hospital, every fucking morning. Today I just don’t feel like it (yes, I’m sorry “I don’t feel like doing it” is a real, very real feeling that I hope is respected, some day). So I told her I don’t want to go.

She burst out.

“Of course. Sure. ‘Don’t want to go'(mockingly). Actually, you know what? The doctor was right. It is our mistake. We brought you up this way. Letting you choose what you want to do and when you want to do it. I wish we were like other parents. At least we could be helping you that way. And you think all of this is a joke? The doctor is treating you because your grandfather requested him to. He said he cannot see his grand-daughter like this. He pleaded for help. But sure, you don’t feel like it.”

I walked away.

How do I tell my mother that no one can “treat” sadness? That my anxiety can be suppressed through those fucking medicines, but this…this lump that I feel…that tells me I’m not worth anything (and then the other ‘angel me’ arguing that of course I’m worth something because: “bulletin point 1, 2, 3” liberal arts ftw!).
How do I tell the people who love me the most that I am sad. And that’s okay. That I am okay with it. That they are in fact making it harder for me with all their “concern”.

I wish there was a way to tell our parents (and family) that it is perfectly alright to be sad, without an obvious reason. That we are only growing up, trying really hard to make sense of this world (and failing). That sometimes, with the best of intentions, they only make it harder for us to heal:

“I can’t see you like this”.
“But we’ve always given you everything you’ve needed”.
“Just tell us what it is and we’ll do our best to fix it”.
“But you were such a happy child. What happened now?”
“Remember that if you’re sad, we are sad”. (But why??)
“You won’t understand. Become parents and then you will”.(argh)

You see how it is problematic to care for someone to the point that you’re actually making it harder for them to deal with whatever they’re dealing with? I know my mother only wants to see me better, but Ma, I SWEAR that’s what I want too. Sometimes I doubt that maybe you two (mom dad) want it more than I do (which is again, very weird because how do I make sense of that? Unconditional love, you say. Still weird, I think).

All I’m asking for is for you to trust me. Please.
I know things haven’t been great for me lately, but I’m working on it. Wanting a holiday from a doctor’s appointment might actually be part of my “working on it”. Sadness cannot be conquered by a military schedule, Ma. I know discipline is important (for god’s sake, I’m waking up at 5 am to exercise in my summer holidays. Like, PLEASE)I know there are some absolute yes’s and no’s. But I’m just saying, maybe missing ONE session shouldn’t be an absolute no.

Because what has it given us? You’re angry with me, working in the kitchen, completely ignoring my presence in your life because maybe I feel like a huge disappointment to you right now. I’m cryng to myself, unable to hold myself properly, shaking, all in hiding, because I know even this will make you sad.




The God of Small Things- Arundhati Roy

“They never did look much like each other, Estha and Rahel,… The confusion lay in a deeper, more secret place”. p.2

“Her own grief grieved her. His devastated her”. p.5

“A Sunbeam Lent To Us Too Briefly”. (Sophie Mol’s tombstone) p.7


“Ammu’s tears made everything that had so far seemed unreal, real”. p.8

“Estha occupied very little space in the world”. p.11

“They provided the care (food, clothes, fees), but withdrew the concern”. p.15

“It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the menory of the life that it purloined”. p.16

“So long as she wasn’t noisy about it, she remained free ti make her own enquiries: into breasts and how much they hurt. Into false hair buns and how well they burned. Into life and how it ought to be lived”. p.17

“Nothing mattered much. Nothing much mattered. And the less it mattered, the less it mattered”. p.19

“That the emptiness in one twin was only a version of the quietness in the other. That the two things fitted together. Like stacked spoons. Like familiar lovers’ bodies”. p.20

“That was all she wanted. All she ever dared to hope for. Just to be near him. Close enough to smell his beard. To see the coarse weave of cassock. To love him just by looking at him”. p.24

“They all tampered with the laws that lay down who should be loved and how. And how much.
The laws that make grandmothers grandmothers, uncles uncles, mothers mothers, cousins cousins, jam jam, and jelly jelly”. p.31

“Perhaps it’s true that things can change in a day. That a few dozen hours can affect the outcome of whole lifetimes”. p.32

“However, for practical purposes, in a hopelessly practical world…” p.34


“It was the kind of time in the life of a family when something happens to nudge its hidden morality from its resting place and make it a bubble to the surface and float for a while. In a clear view. For everyone to see”. p. 35

Ämmu said that Chacko had never stopped loving Margaret Kochamma. Mammachi disagreed. She liked to believe that he had never loved her in the first place”. p.36

“..they had no surname because Ammu was considering reverting to her maiden name, though she said that choosing between her husband’s name and her father’s name didn’t give a woman much of a choice”. p.37

“Rahel’s new teeth were waiting inside her gums, like words in a pen”. p.37

“They emerged without much fuss, within eighteen minutes of each other. Two little ones, instead of one big one. Twin seals, slick with their mother’s juices. Wrinkled with the effort of being born”. p.40

“Ämmu left her husband and returned, unwelcomed, to her parents in Ayemenem. To everything that she had fled from only a few years ago. Except that now she had two young children. And no more dreams”. p.42

“Ämmu loved her children (of course), but their wide eyed vulnerability, and their willingness to love people who didn’t really love them, exasperated her and sometimes made her want to hurt them – just as an education, a protection”. p.43

“To Ammu her twins seemed like a pair of small bewildered frogs engrossed in each other’s company, lolloping arm in arm down a highway full of hurtling traffic. Entirely oblivious of what trucks can do to frogs”. p.43

“What was it that gave Ammu this Unsafe Edge? This air of unpredictability? It was what she had battling inside her. An unmixable mix. The infinite tenderness of motherhood and the reckless rage of a suicide bomber”. p.44

“But most of all, she grudged them the comfort they drew from each other. She expected from them some token unhappiness. At the very least”. p.46

“Ammu said that human beings were creatures of habit, and it was amazing the kind of things they could get used to”. p.50

“Our dreams have been doctored. We belong nowhere. We sail unanchored on troubled seas. We may never be allowed ashore. Our sorrows will never be sad enough. Our joys never happy enough. Our dreams never big enough. Our lives never important enough. To matter”. p.53

“..the twins would shout in high voices. Not together, but almost”. p.59

“This was the twouble with families. Like invidious doctors, they knew just where it hurt”. p.70

“A lucky leaf that wasn’t lucky enough”. p.73

“It was a little like having to sweep away your footprints without a broom. Or worse, not being allowed to leave footprints at all”. p.74

“Not until he saw what his Untouchable son had touched. More than touched. Entered. Loved”. p.78

“They remembered being pushed around a room once, from Ammu to Baba to Ammu to Baba like billiard balls. Ammu pushing Estha away:’Here, you keep one of them. I can’t afford to look after them both.’ Later, when Estha asked Ammu about that, she hugged him and said he mustn’t imagine things”. p.84

“A pale daymoon hung hugely in the sky and went where they went. As big as the belly of a beer-drinking man”. p.87