A really close friend asked me a life changing question a
while back, ‘Who is Flarantxa?’ It took me a while to realise the depth this
question had. Never before had I thought about it, and suddenly I wanted to
know, so I did it, I penned this down.
Who am I? The easy answer would be Flarantxa Pereira, the
harder one, I don’t know. I don’t know who I am, I don’t know where I belong, I
don’t know who I’m going to be. I think that’s because I haven’t found my place
yet, I guess I haven’t searched enough.
I love my books, I love how they smell. I have an obsession
with collecting books, if I’m ever let loose into a bargain book sale I know
I’d go crazy, actually I have. I have this bad habit of buying books I don’t
need, and keeping them even though I absolutely hate them. I think I like the idea
of books, when I look at them I feel happy, like I have a book OCD. I don’t think
their books, they’re more like friends.
I love food, I love the idea of going to a café, or
restaurant sitting alone with my chosen food, eating and wondering or reading
or sometimes writing. I think I love the idea of being there all alone with the
two things that make me the happiest. When I was 12 I used binge eat, mostly
chocolate, I think it comforted me, back then I didn’t really know the effect
of books, I’d given up the stuff that generally helped me, like writing and
painting. So chocolate was my go to, for 5 years it had been my best friend, I’d
like to still think it is, only now I savour it.
A more recent love, writing. Back when I was in school, a
bunch of people made fun of my writing, so I stopped. 3 years back, I found it
again. I started with poems, to this day they will always be my first love. 2
years back I wrote my first story, as much as I hate what I wrote, that was the
one thing that set the tone for me, firsts I believe are always the best. I
wrote my first ‘letter’ too, and I guess, that was why writing became so
Important, I realised I could do anything, say anything, be anything. I
realised, I could fly if I wanted to, and maybe just maybe, make history. I
don’t think I’m a good writer, I don’t think much about it, I guess I’m okay.
But I don’t care about what type of a writer I am, I just want to write, I
think it’s because nothing else I’ve ever done seemed as right as writing has.
I love looking different, I love the idea of wearing
something most people won’t like or won’t approve of, I love being a little
outrageous.
It used to be hard being different, I used to cry because I
wasn’t like everyone else, because I liked home more than parties, because I
like coffee more than beer, because I liked books more than people. But then as
I grew up, I realised, I wasn’t like everyone else, God made me a “weeee” bit
different, I realised it was okay not to like parties or beer or people. It was
okay to not dress up like I wanted boys to fall all over me, it was okay to be
fat, it was okay to have a few friends, it was okay to not be pretty or hot, it
was okay to be random. It took me most part of my teenage years, I think that’s
what happens to most people, they spend their teenage years wanting to be
another person, and only when they reach the end of those years, they realise
they were enough just the way they were. I took me 19 years to realise that, I
don’t know what made me see this, but I guess it was finally looking at myself
in the mirror and realising I was beautifully flawed.
I believe in God, Jesus to be more specific. I believe that
there is a higher power, but not one that’s bad, more like one that loves. Not
everyone knows why or how I met the Lord, but here’s a glimpse, I was lonely,
sad, depressed and 2 days away from jumping down the 7th floor or
our terrace flat. Why? Easy, I was alone. Until, one evening I fell to the
floor crying, I was as scared as the next person of death, and I was crying, I
had my Hindi paper the next day, but I feared dying more. I cried, desperate
for help, holding on to my ‘Teens Bible’. This time I wasn’t alone, not in a
long shot, I was being hugged. To this day, that feeling never leaves me; I
still feel that warm hug every time I lift my bible or every time I feel alone.
Ever since that day, I have no doubt, God is real. And I’ve never questioned
that.
I like going for long walks, feeling the breeze flow through
my short hair. I think that calms me to, and maybe opens my mind a bit.
I like being there for people I care about, I like standing up
for them, fighting for them even though I know deep down they wouldn’t do the
same thing.
I build walls, I shut people out if they get to close, I
make up lies, I push them away. I’m too scared that they’d see the real me,
that they’d know exactly what cracks me up, that they would see my wounds and
look at me like the disable I’ve always felt I was. I’m scared of getting hurt,
of falling in love, of moving on, of changing, of pain. I’m scared I’ll lose
everything, I think I’m scared I’d lose the people I worked so hard to keep.
Or maybe I was. I don’t know if a day can change you, I
guess not, but a few days back I knew what I wanted.
I want to be a writer, a social worker, a part time baker, a
wedding planner, traveller, and who knows what else. Most people say doing all
this is rather impossible, but I guess if you wanted something bad enough you
might just get it.
I want to be loved, I want to be needed, accepted, and loved
without question. For so long I wanted a ‘boyfriend’ not realising what I
really wanted was love. It took me 19 years and a few really bad days to
realise I already had that, maybe not from ‘that boy’ but I had it, from all
those unexpected people. I guess people somehow surprise you, if you let them.
I still don’t know where I belong,
but I have a good
feeling I’m going to find that out soon.
