The Other

I am not in that society where we respect differences. I live in that society where being different is like a crime. There is no soft corner or warm space for those who are littlebit different from “so-called” normal. We love to hear same type of thoughts, we like to see same types of people, I don’t know what is the cause?  But our society loves linearity. It never gives respect to those who have a different thought, those who look different.

Sometimes when I see or analyze myself, I found myself the other. I do not look like what the girl expect to be looked like. I have brown skin, I am less than five fit, I am less than 40 kg, I am tiny than the normal. But I love my brown skin. It’s ridiculous when people say, “Why don’t you put lit bit powder in your face?” “Why not fairness cream?” I love my body shape. It’s boresome when people say “Why don’t you wear heels?” “Why don’t you eat more?” Really, these types of questions bother me. I have to love myself whatever I am. I have liberty to enjoy my life, being myself. But the culture of othering is widely prevalent in our culture too. Although I am unknown about the Eastern theory about othering. In West, it is also called as stereotyping. But Staurt Hall’s idea about stereotyping is somehow applicable in our culture too. Basically, he talks about how difference plays important role in identity formation. And how is the representation of ‘difference’ linked with questions of power? 

I know colour of my skin, height, weight, has nothing to do with what I think. What I believe.  What I understand. Similarly, I know these things are wrong reasons to like someone or judge someone in any case. But people judge us comment us prioritizing those things, demonizing the positivity. They say whatever come in their mind. But what goes through on that particular person always becomes between the lines. Especially, those experiences are depicted in my diary in this way:

“I am the other. I am nobody. I do not want to include myself in any box. In any philosophy. In any ideology. I belong here but really do not belong. Who laughs many times but really do not smile. I am not a rose. I am not a marigold. Alas, I am nobody, nobody’s dream, nobody’s ambition but I am me.