I must be proud of myself, but I was not.
I was a studious kid, made the grades and marks that the society sought. I finished my engineering with distinction and my full-time MBA while supporting my two children.
I must be proud of myself, but I was not.
I used to write .NET code and SQL stored procedures, completing entire applications way ahead of the deadline. I have awed my office teams and post-graduate class with my presentation skills and was appreciated for being a natural.
I must be proud of myself, but I was not.
I am an articulate writer who knits her thoughts and ideas through words. My writing helps me express things that my voice sometimes fumbles. It helps me wield awareness on the rights that I believe in and defiance on the wrongs I beg to differ. I have been a blogger for more than 15 years, not counting the little works of publication every now and then.
I must be proud of myself, but I was not.
I say stories through slideshows, narrating my family’s celebrations and outings. I edit pictures and videos taken during our vacations and synchronize them with the background music. They make beautiful keepsake memorabilia, and I have about 150 such videos on my YouTube channel.
I must be proud of myself, but I was not.
I have progressed from someone who had never entered her kitchen until 21 years old to someone who can whip up over 100 tasty recipes today, across many cuisines. Testimonies are aplenty.
I must be proud of myself, but I was not.
I am a trained classical dancer and have given many stage performances during childhood and teens. Today, I may not be able to pull off heavy movements like before, but I can certainly win your hearts with grace.
I must be proud of myself, but I was not.
I toil in my backyard for hours, digging, planting, and gardening, just for a single self-sufficient meal. I DIY where I can for the satisfaction of doing my own. I am a self-made woman, and I must be proud of myself, but I was not.
Instead, I became sad and depressed.
Why? Because I listened and believed.
I listened to the unfair rules of the pre-lockdown professional world, ones that were made to enable a privileged few. Everyone else was supposed to wither and die.
“If you admit to enjoying cooking, you’ll be doomed to spend a life in the kitchen,” they warned. I was afraid.
“You continue your dance performances, your technical skills will be undermined,” I limited my dancing to my house.
“Women belong to the front of the camera, not in the video editing space. Coding? You must be kidding!” they said. I saved my skills for the personal stuff, hiding it with caution.
“You write? Is that even a skillset?” they joked. I made it a hobby.
“You talk about work-life balance in the IT world? Shut up!” they said. I shut up.
“You are married and pregnant. Your efficiency at work is likely to decrease. You are better off staying at home and taking care of your children” they said. I got out.
“Your skill set doesn’t matter. You have a break in your career, and therefore you are unqualified for the job”, they said, I accepted.
“You have young kids? You must be having a lot of responsibilities; we are afraid our company cannot accommodate you. Sorry, no job.”, they politely patronized. I nodded.
“You are over 30? Your ship has sailed. Sorry, no job.”
“You are an immigrant. You do not have Canadian experience. Sorry, no job.”
Before my resume was even opened or read, “Sorry, no job”.
I tried launching on my own, wearing many hats, and tackling my streams. Since those were not paying yet, “You don’t have an office job or make any profit yet. Then, you are unemployed.” they teased. I was too desperate to question or argue.
When my savings died out, I was so broke that I could not afford the commute fare or entrance fee for networking events. I applied for jobs, just any ethical job that would help me pay my bills and support my family. I applied to be a waitress, cashier, clerk, and every admin job there was. “You are over-qualified, sorry, no job,” they said. I cried.
Rejected. Rejected. Rejected. I surrendered.
I tried and fell. I tried again and was pushed. I tried some more and almost gave up.
I must have been proud of myself, but I ended up being frustrated, sad, and depressed.
“Hey, don’t be depressed. Stay strong!” they offered platitudes, and I felt even more worthless.
The pre-lockdown world had me cornered in a bad place where I blamed the world for what it was. I whined initially. Then, I complained to myself internally. Then, my confidence crumbled and collapsed completely.
Whatever lockdown did elsewhere, it gave me ample time to introspect, acknowledge my strengths and weaknesses, and identify my biggest mistakes of all time.
I had listened to the rules even if I did not believe them.
I had believed in the others, the invisible “they” more than I believed in myself.
I thought I challenged the status quo, but I succumbed to it.
I felt like a failure because I failed myself.
Every day since the lockdown has helped me see things with more clarity than the day before. Yes, there is institutionalized inequality. Yes, the systems are unfair. But my main fault was allowing them to assault my spirit, blame instead of battle, and use that as an excuse to curl up and be willing to die.
Realization returns my confidence slowly. My mind feels better, and my heart feels light. I refuse to give up. I am ready to try again.
Events happening around the world seem to indicate that times are changing and make me believe that I am on the right side of the change. I have restored my hope that I had lost long ago.
Today, I may not be what the world thinks I should be. I may never be what it wants me to be. But I know I can indeed be what I am and what I am destined to be.
Irrespective of anything and everything, today, I am proud of myself.
