And I want to believe I’m not the only one.
At least I know my mother and sister are with me in this. So that’s some relief.
I’m that person (and I’m not sure if you are one. If you are not, at least you know someone who is exactly the same) who had tears roll down her cheeks just because the teacher called out her name in a rather stern voice, because the love story that was being read out from the textbook ended on a tragic note, because my team won the volleyball tournament and the intensity of joy was too much to deal with that I had to release it with some help from tears, because the protagonist in that Hindi serial just died only to be reincarnated after a few episodes, of course. But anyway, he died in this episode, so I had to cry. Growing up, I have cried at the most auspicious and inauspicious times. Expected and unexpected times. Right and wrong times. Inside my boss’ cabin when I was pulled up for a job not well done, when I saw a pup being run over by speeding traffic, when I had an argument with a dear one, when I watched two people reunite after a fight in a movie, when I watched that sunrise from atop Triund in Himachal, when I got my birthday surprises, when my trust was broken, when I almost gave up hope on life, when I felt grateful for all the beautiful people in my life, when I listened to soft, touching music, when it rained out of the blue, when I saw a loved one in front of me after days of being away, when I left home after a holiday every single time, and when I saw someone else cry and or just painfully upset. Through all these years I have received mixed responses to my super sensitive side. I have been loved for this adorable behavior, been laughed at for the wrong timings of my tears, been yelled at for not being able to put my point across during an argument. I have been called weak, overly sensitive. That I use tears as my weapon, as self-defense. That it is an attention-seeking tactic, and so on and so forth.
And what did I think? As for me, I grew up believing that tears are a sign of not being strong enough. Of being fragile and feminine. I hated it when I couldn’t make a point or stand up for myself. But at the same time, crying helped me a lot. Tears during a flush of anger calmed me down. Tears during a moment of pain gave me relief. Tears while bidding goodbye to a loved one made me grateful for their presence in my life. Tears while seeing someone else sad or crying helped me slip into their shoes rather easily. It took me a long long while to accept that tears have, in fact, been my strength. Always. and it took this post for me to come to that realization.
Today, I can confidently say that yes, I do cry at the smallest and most insignificant things sometimes. Not because I am weak, but because I feel emotions very intensely. It somehow makes me, me. And I am embracing who I am without feeling guilty about it.
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