Pink Girl

I wonder if she will recognise me. Will she know who I am? The pink-dressed girl who hated ponytails and wore glitter shoes with eyes shining on every other thing. The pink girl who would overeat her little tummy to fill her mind. The pink girl that she never saw grow up to be an adult. In the silence of the crowded metro, where someone else's pink girl is tucked, hidden and protected, I look for my old pink girl. I will hardly recognise her, but her grandmother (ma) will. I don’t know if my ma will, though, now. The pink girl, she knows, grew up and is nearly half her age. Will she look at me and find the pink girl again? Or has she always been looking at me? 

The way my room changed from heaps of books to makeup and trinkets, the struggle in learning how to braid my hair or how the cup is overflowing with rose petals? Growing up really is a journey, and there is so much still left. I have walked through so many doors that were once windows that I couldn’t graze from. The sights of concerts, late-night drives, the sunset from an office, surprise birthday parties and private dance shows. In these moments, my heart gives thanks to gods, god or God. It doesn’t care about the name or number, but a simple gratitude for letting me live it. It is such an honest, small nod from me that even I can’t point it out, but I do hope the receiver knows. And maybe, ma you are listening at least. 

If you are my audience, ma, I wish that you would not be bored with seeing me day in and day out working on my laptop. Did the show skip some steamy scenes and fast-forward the crying? I hope it did. Did the arc of my teenage rebellion make you cringe? On how I fall for the wrong guys and break a heart. On how I wanted freedom but forgot that it is lonely. The character growth in me when I realised that no one will make sure I’m wrapped in blankets, and not sleeping on the floor in my dress and heels, is not freedom.

If you ask my favourite scenes, I would say my current arc is as soft as my pink girl time. It is happy and bubbly. Currently, everything is calm with no crying and overthinking. Aside from future worries, the present is a sweet fruit to lavish on. I can’t even take credit for this plot, cause it is the people around me who are the directors. The way someone waits for 15 minutes in the rain for me, bringing art into my technological blue settings and is a sore loser but will always play with me. The love behind the sternness in taking me shopping for a dress, and the patience in talking to me while I am commuting. How my dusty piano is playing again is all I need to know that I can curl up and sleep, ma. I think you would recognise me cause my pink girl is popping up.