By Priya Verma
In my 6th grade Biology textbook I read
The average lifespan of a woman is 76 years
That did not bother me one bit
I was going to live to be a 100 years
I knew things my peers did not
I knew how to do nothing, and sit with a thought
How to be by myself, and mix shades of blue
To paint the skies, in all its hues
While gazing through a window. Doing. Nothing.
I knew how to enjoy a meal
And not crave for more,
Let others speak
And open the door
I knew sharing is caring
And it’s so easy
I knew being kind was a favor
Not for others but for me.
In 9th grade, everything changed.
I was below average, borderline.
My special skills were left far behind.
No time to do nothing, don’t you want IIT?
Arun from school has started 11th Chemistry!
Devashree and Arun, and the rest of the class
Is far ahead of the curve Priya, you are dead last
It all piled up, exams, projects, and peers
But the cherry on top was facing my worst fears
One day our chemistry marks were announced
Devashree came up to me, haughty and proud
How much did you get?
She asked, all mug
68 on 80, I said, trying to brush it under the rug
Devashree beamed and swayed
Why are you so glum? 68 is great
Really? I asked, unsure of what to say
How much did you get? I asked
She pulled a sad face
ONLY 79 on 80
1 mark away from a full grade
I was hurt. It was a tiny bruise
But it was piled on top of a history of abuse
I asked Devashree, if you are sad with a 79
How on earth did you say 68 was fine?
She collected her face
And corrected herself
I meant 68 was great, for you.
That was gut punch
So raw, beyond belief
To know my peers
Kept me around for comic relief
I went back home
For the first time in years
Sat with myself
And shed silent tears
Suddenly my old skillset
Was what I would use
To heal myself
For I am both artist and muse
People gradually drifted
Like weeds giving way
For a flower to grow
On a sunny day
It will take time to heal
All the cuts, bruises and tears
But I’m not worried
I’ve got a 100 years