Intransitiveness

I am only good at “being me”

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A few hours ago, I was busy teaching my students the types of verb. “Transitive” and “Intransitive” verbs. The major difference between them was, that the former type involved the doer of the action whereas the latter form dealt with states or feelings without any doer of the action. I was wondering that how could a grammatical rule explain life so vividly! Like once there were many actions being performed by the doers and then the action couldn’t be transferred to the object, our heart.

Whenever a pimple appears on my face, my aunts question me “why are you getting them again?” to which I reply defensively “oh they are better, they were much worse weeks ago” Does a pimple know, if it is appearing on a male skin or a female skin? Just like that pimple, I am devoid of the feeling of gender inside my soul until I reach my menstrual cycle every month to proclaim that I am a girl. Why being a girl is so tough for me? I am not a tomboy either. I am me, yes, just me! A free spirited bird, who wants to flatter the wings and fly, just fly without stopping.

They jest at me, saying “you’re a boy inside” I reply “because my father raised me like a son.” I am tired of hearing about the gender roles. I want to be fearless like a male but I know that a male fakes his cowardice by acting vigilant and a female, hides her valor with the veil of fragility. I don’t want to cake myself with makeup just because I am a female and I have to look presentable for the world. They measure my worth with the pressed crease of my clothes and the lipstick shade I wear. They resist talking to me in my messy clothes and face full of acne and breakouts. They don’t judge my intellect on the basis of huge piles of books that I’ve read or the records that I lip sync on. They dread me when they come to know that I am an introvert and I don’t go to outdoor places. They call me bore and psychopath because they consider my thoughts negative and lethal. They easily discard the goodness in me and let my mood swings outweigh the former. They hurt me, I won’t lie. The worst part is they make me dread myself the most. They take me out of my shell, get some amusement and throw me. And left me in the dungeon of my endless contemplations. They convert my life into Intransitive. They really do!