Family pressures

 As I sat on my desk with my legs lazily sprawled over my chair and random locks of hair loosely falling all over my face, I ritualistically wrote clusters of words onto a document and then promptly deleted them all with just a single click- every single time. This cycle drove me to the verge of insanity, resulting in my head throbbing with pain and my Hail Mary being a strip of crocin. I slapped my cheeks countless times, stared at my screen with a murderous intent and even wrote an entire piece only to realise that though the words were mine, the emotions weren’t. And I thought to myself, what good is a piece if it doesn’t reflect a part of my soul which had been previously hidden away, tucked beneath the surface, only to be glimpsed on occasion when the mask I wore slipped away momentarily. While I cascaded into a session of self critique and intense contemplation over my sudden inability to express through words, it hit me. I realised that the complexity of the theme ‘family pressures’ overwhelmed me, as talking about an issue which is so deeply rooted into our society is a challenge due to it being hard to truly comprehend. Family pressures are embedded into communal structures itself, irrespective of one’s religion, caste, ethnicity or nation. The reason for my initial disconnect with the subject of this piece is perfectly encapsulated by one memory which I still distinctly recall. 

I remember twirling around the library, ecstatically high on caffeine as I glided through the brightly coloured shelves and sofas, finally running into the arms of my best friend. My best friend is my comfort person. She is the one I turn to when the entire word seems full of gloom and despair. She is a ray of sunshine that sets fire to everything, no matter how desolate the situation may seem. In my eyes, she is a part of my family. Without her, there would be a space in my life which would always remain dark and empty, like an endless tunnel reaching nowhere. I remember her chirping brightly that day, and asking me to face the camera and talk about what ‘family pressures’ meant to me. This was for an Ed Board reel, to promote the publication ‘Uncensored’ and foster curiosity in the minds of students regarding the theme. When she first said ‘go!’, my response was merely “I don’t have any family pressures, I’m very lucky because of that”. After hearing my response, she made an exasperated face and laughed, signalling that she expected better. This brief interaction between us ignited something in my mind, making me realise how superficial my take on the theme actually was. It hit me that I was merely looking at a complicated topic from the surface, failing to de-contract its nitty-gritties and evaluate it holistically. I wasn’t doing the topic justice, because deep down the thought of thinking over such a sensitive area, scared me. It was terrifying to think about what my family expects from me, even if they don’t say it explicitly. 

But now that I have let myself look within, and acknowledge the veiled truth hidden between the infinite moments I’ve spent with my family and the countless times they’ve been there for me, I can visualise the instances tucked away, being rendered insignificant in the depths of my mind due to all the other wonderful moments surpassing it. 

Being asked, “Is that your decision or your parent’s?”, reacting to situations by reflecting over what my dad would do if he were in my shoes,  feeling a strange sense of satisfaction every time I hear the words “Your mom was just like you”, pondering over the future- and whether the person I envision myself to morph into, will be even slightly close to the child my parents always secretly dreamed of having. 

The above moments are all examples from my own life of moments that regularly occur, but my brain failed to vividly register as archetypes of when family pressures manoeuvred my actions, without me even realising it. 

Honestly speaking, I think family pressures are something we’ve all faced, even if it isn’t always in explicit ways. After all, no matter how complex or dynamic our relationships are with our respective families, at the end of the day they’re responsible for bringing us into this world, they started our lives- while we were just a collection of a few cells, they believed in us even before we morphed into physical entities, they had so much faith that they were willing to put their lives on hold while they nursed us and took care of us as children, making sure we received the best lives we could. These sentences are pretty scary aren’t they? I for one get petrified about my own capabilities when I recall these facts, the truth about just how much my parents bet on when they decided to give me life. We all face pressure in different aspects, as families are intertwined with a myriad of factors which can’t even be described on an infinite number of papers. But for me, family pressures arise from this- the unrelenting trust and confidence my parents have had in me since the very start. It makes me scared to slip up, to fail and to fall down, because I'm burdened by the fears of letting them down and turning into someone they never thought I would be. I’m thankful that my parents never explicitly laid down their expectations for me, but despite all their good intentions, I can’t say that I haven’t experienced family pressures. But truthfully, that’s okay. Because despite its overwhelming nature it motivates me everyday to be the best version of myself that I can be, because seeing my parents beam with pride and their eyes sparkle with admiration is a feeling I can’t put into words. 

 “There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth.” - Friedrich Nietzsche