The Price of Trying
We survive in a world where we’re constantly hounded by expectations of all sorts. Whether we’re torturing ourselves by trying to slim down into the dress which is deemed almost impossible to fit into or maintaining a double life in social media, we’re consumed by the need to represent ourselves as better and more interesting. We harbor the strongest desire that people will shower us with compliments all the time while finding ways to put down others in order to feel gratified about ourselves.
Before you label me as cynical, I assure you I’m not entirely pessimistic. I believe in working hard, giving back and most importantly, treating people the way you want to be treated. Of course, I’ve had my large share of blunders when I’ve blurted out insensitive things in front of the wrong people, and being overtly defensive about my opinions, even when they were wrong. Lately, I’ve been trying to be more aware of the things I’m saying. I’ve begun thinking twice before opening my mouth. I’ve also hurt myself by pretending to be something that I’m not. I shouldn’t try to say anything to counter reality and portray a positive but mostly false image of myself, I decided. However, a few days after my twenty-first birthday, my determination to remain true to myself, being more honest and treating people the way I want to be treated, came to a test. I was talking to a few guests at a party my parents were giving. It’s been nearly a year since I’ve come to Bangladesh, and I could immediately tell that one of the guests (whom I met for the first time in my life) already had certain preconceived notions about my experiences, and of course, my character. Starting from an unnecessary jibe at my age and appearance to showcasing visible disdain throughout the entirety of the conversation, the whole thing felt quite draining. And absolutely unnecessary. “You don’t know anything about the way universities here run,” my guest remarked snidely, after I casually commented that Physics—which she was majoring in and talking about—has always been difficult to me when I studied in school. No, I don’t know how universities here run, because the Internet is something I’ve never learned to use, I thought to myself, feeling irritated that my attempts to fill the awkward gaps in the conversation were being met with such a reaction. I’ve also never listened to my friends studying here, either.
I tried not to take notice—it was a small thing, wasn’t it?—thinking I was perhaps being the dramatic one. As I talked to another guest, who’d last come to Bangladesh nearly eleven years ago, about how a potential trip to St. Martin’s Island might be risky given the weather, and how during the last time I went, I felt the ship might have toppled at one point, the above mentioned guest felt a strong inclination to barge once again. “You see, I’ve always travelled on ships and boats with my family,” she said smugly. “Of course, I’d never feel as queasy. I’m used to this.” “Right,” I said, clenching my teeth and wondering should I say something blunt or keep appearances up, at least for my parents’ sake. Just then, someone pointed to the Barbie dolls I used to own when I was younger, and which my mother had placed on one of the shelves. A guest cheerfully remarked that she also loved playing with dolls when she was younger. However, this didn’t go unnoticed by her. “I’ve never been the one to play with dolls, I was always the girl who’d play cricket with the boys,” she swooped in. “I loved running. Oh wait, how do you spend your time at your University? Do you always stay in just your campus?” She stared at me, her eyes challenging. I frowned to myself. Should I be honest like I wanted to be or should I give the false but positive image that would immediately crush down her prejudiced analysis? Or should I simply laugh it off and ignore her because there’s way too many people we encounter who always have an overwhelming need to take shots at others and even strangers to feel better about themselves? Noticing the empty platter on her hand, I simply gave an arched smile and ask if she wanted anymore food. I’d rather just be a good host.