I was doing strenuous yoga under our Misty May Flower moon and reflecting on the calm feeling of being at home and in harmony.
This state of only comes when I am alone, I realised.
I am addicted to my own company.
The sanctuary and acceptance that comes only with the self.
Don’t get me wrong, I am no shy and qUiRkY girl who reads emo books at one direction concerts in hopes of getting Harry Styles to notice me.
No!
I am an extrovert, I adore social situations and am a true social butterfly.
However, when the shallow niceties of Western custom are removed and the core of it all revealed, I realise that
Besides Punya and my own company,
I have never really felt at home.
Never in my 16 years of existence.
No other 5-year-old wanted to deep dive into spirituality, no other 6-year-old seemed to care of radical empathy. There was no other 7-year-old on their warpath of discovering their passion and life force and no 8-year-old valued discussion and debate as I did. No 9-year-old was interested in the beginnings of the Universe and no other 10-year-old was openly critical of her teachers’ overuse of paper and other natural resources (I really did tell off my year 5 teacher for environmental ignorance in front of the entire class). No fellow 11-year-old was thirsty for cosmic knowledge and justice and no 12-year-old dipped their toes in anthropology. No 13-year-old cared about veganism and no 14-year-old dabbled around in ancient religions and their practices. No other 15-year-old cared about our world and bettering it through politics or their fellow human.
Here I am now, at 16. None of my peers care about anything I do. I search for passion and purpose within them and am met with creative insults for our math teachers,
I most certainly have lived a life of constant ridicule and lonely interests. I guess I don’t mind, for my own company is more than enough.
However, I will always hold a little grudge for the adults who not only ignored my interests but stepped on it with their overgrown feet and tried to push me out of a pond of my very own making and into the mainstream.
I am in no way shaming children or teens for being children or teens, for they carry divine magic in their own right! It's just never been magic that I've resonated with.
I also wonder why the curse of maturity seems to follow me. Maybe it’s because of the many, many past lives I’ve lived or good old childhood trauma. Possibly a mix of both!
I hope 30-year-old me stumbles onto this piece and sighs with relief. I hope she has successfully escaped the tiring fishbowl that is childhood and has entered the infinite and spacious ocean that is the rest of her life. I hope she finds a beautiful and supportive group of friends that understand her, or at least care enough to try to. And maybe has a hottie on her arm who is just as passionate as she is.
I hope she feels out of place occasionally still, so she remembers her roots and honours being an eternal outsider. I hope she knows how proud 16-year-old her is of her and is just cosmically content.
I am so grateful that I’ve constantly been out of place for my entire existence because it forced me to get the hell up,
And make a place of my own!
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