living in tradition.

I can’t help but feel frustrated as I see my brother grow into a society brimming with imperfections. In my world, he has privilege. He doesn’t have to look at himself twice before he leaves a room. He doesn’t have to care about defying norms as he makes decisions. He doesn’t have to feel uncomfortable as he steps outside into stares and whispers. All my life, I wished he would never become one of them. But growing into what you see is inevitable. He clocks time whilst staring at cricket on a television, a pastime that is justifiable to my parents as it is accepted within society. “He’ll learn cricket”, they say. But what about me? What about when I stared into a television screen observing people cook. Why isn’t that good enough? There’s always a double standard. No matter how much my parents say they never differentiate between their children, in a society like ours, you can’t not. I don’t want my brother to grow to be like the men he sees. I want him to be different. But I can’t help but envision him becoming a conformist. A conformist that forever points out short dresses and excessive makeup. A conformist that I have seen, loved and accepted when knowledge was not on my side. A conformist that will never see me the way I see myself.

One thought on “living in tradition.

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