I was recently asked to describe myself to be introduced in a public setting. This sort of stuff makes me quite uncomfortable and yet I am always sheepishly surprised with the words that begin to appear from the rhythmic clickity-clacking of my fingers uncoordinatedly pushing on keys. I thought many thoughts.
Who am I? Which part(s) of me do I want to share? How do I see myself? Am I good enough to share with others? What if people laugh at me? What if they think I'm rubbish? Etcetera etcetera.
When I push aside my gnawing self-critical and insecure mumblings, I produce this:
When I'm not thinking about the next unit, I love poetry, physics, tinkering in the kitchen with ingredients, my bike ride home from school and counting shades of pink in the sky, and Bollywood dancing like no one's watching (or at least like no one's laughing!). I am currently occupied by the Tower of Hanoi, Fibonacci poems, thinking about the next fun project to do with my nieces and nephews, and learning 4 chords on my guitar.
And I'm more. I am a partner who waits to hear her guy's heartbeating every time she hugs him. I am the kid who loves to lie flat on the concrete of a basketball court and feel a warm monsoon storm all around her. I am the teenager who doesn't know how to not start dancing to a Backstreet Boys song when it suddenly starts playing in a bar in 2014. I am the teacher who makes misnakes.
And I am still more. I am the unchartered space with boundaries and open doors. I am the map not yet finished. I am the tea that got cold. I am the book surrounded by nieces and nephews. I am the unsynchronized ticks of the clocks in my classroom. I am the precision of the atomic clock in my bathroom. I am the lazy Saturday morning that never left the couch. I am the masala that gets in your nails after devouring a plate of rajma-chawal on a Sunday with my Ma. I am the shadow following my Pa. I am the third earring in my right ear. I am the scar on my nose from a piercing that never became mine. I am the laughter echoed from my sister's untarnished joy. I am the muted greens of April in Colorado. I am the color that got left out of the rainbow. I am the punctuation mark at the end of an exclamation. I am the fool of the perfectionist. I am the bubble that popped. I am the girl who ran away in tenth grade from her friend of 13 years. I am the frog of the trog. I am the knee that never healed. I am the question no one asked. I am the drop in the ocean that fell in vain. I am the lone tree that benefitted from the rain. I am the feet standing on shoulders I can't count. I am now and one day I'll be was.