Thoughts of the little me, trapped in a body of a 21-year-old.
1. Life as a choice
2008, August 16th. The air conditioning tousles my hair, carefully gathered into two ponytails.
It’s my sixth birthday. Mom decided to celebrate with a lunch at a restaurant. She bought a pink cream cake. I absentmindedly eat the courses, imagining the taste of that dessert. I’ve always had a weakness for sweets.
The restaurant is located in a remote village in Italy, one of those with fresh and invigorating air, smelling of freshly cut grass and fertilizer at the same time.
Outside the restaurant, there’s a small farm, with two tall and thin horses, four little rabbits (I love bunnies), and a couple of squawking hens.
This meatloaf tastes strange. I get up and go exploring. The restaurant’s decor is very old-fashioned, it feels like being in a Wild West inn. I imagine what would happen if a cowboy walked in through the door any moment. I chuckle.
The air is filled with noise, chatter, laughter, clinking cutlery, popping of sparkling wine bottles. I position myself in front of the fireplace, at the center of the place. The fire in the stove flickers and continuously changes shape. A heart, a circle, now it almost looks like a dragon! A tree! A… Let me call my sister.
“RACHEL-” I shout, not managing to finish my shrill song before my mom shoots me one of her glares. The diners fall silent. She signals me to come to her. My voice resonates between the walls and hangs in the air, with the silence of the entire place, it almost sounds like a primal call. The cry of some dinosaur. Or rather, of an annoying bird of prey.
I run to my furious mother, already shaking off the embarrassment as only a child can do.
After a while, the murmur of the people happily resumes.
I ignore the order to go back to eating and hop over to my sister.
“Rachele! There’s fire in the fireplace. The fire was doing strange things. You have to come see!”
“Sit down,” my mom snaps, the same tone one would use with a disobedient dog. I comply. This time she’s serious.
At the table, adults talk about adult things.
After attempting to listen, with furrowed brows, I turn to my little sister.
We talk about kid stuff. Cartoons. Farm animals. Nursery rhymes. The meatloaf.
“Desi?”
That’s me.
“Yeah?”
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
What kind of question is that?!
“How should I know? I’m little!”
“You’re growing up fast, you know! Start thinking about it.”
Nonsense! Am I some kind of fortune-teller? I’ll find out in time who I’m meant to be.
Who I’m meant to be.
Fifteen years later, I have the answer to that question. I just want to be me.
2. The others yes, me no.
My mom has always been a somewhat anxious woman. Whatever mistake you made, it was the end of the world. I guess it is a “mom thing,” all moms act and think in the same certain way. It’s not a nice feeling, though.
“14 years old, and you still do this!”
“16 years old! And you still don’t know what to do!”
“18 years old, my dear, you won’t go anywhere like this.”
“You’re 20 years old. You’re wasting time. Wake up.”
Since I can remember, actually, I’ve been told that time is running out. That I’m doing it wrong. That my peers are doing better. That others are up high, while I’m always down low.
Aside from the huge, disastrous impact this has had — and still has — on my self-esteem, I’ve lived for a long time with a conviction: the others yes, me no. The others can, me not at all.
Despite having fulfilled my duties as a student and as a daughter excellently, behaving quite well for a teenage girl, and always getting excellent or decent grades at school, the Rule of the Others always applied.
“Good job! And how did X do? What grade did they get?”
“And why did Y do better than you? They studied harder I bet!”
Seeing every effort or merit of mine discredited, I lived for years in the lie that time, for me, was running out, that others were winning the “Game of Life” while I was just a pawn, easy to discard, getting lost on a chessboard of queens.
Comparing yourself to others will never get you anywhere.
And I’m not saying that a bit of healthy competition is harmful. But if you spend your life looking at other people’s lives, you’ll end up not looking at your own anymore.
Every individual grows up in their own way. In a different family, in various social and economic contexts, in different countries, in different ways. All factors that incredibly influence a person’s abilities in what we want to call the Game of Life.
Let me give you an example. Andrea has lived his life in a somewhat sad and unsupportive family. Therefore, he has low self-esteem and, consequently, little initiative. He has difficulty making decisions on his own, speaks softly, hesitates, is afraid of saying the wrong thing or that his idea isn’t that important. His desk neighbor, Rebecca, lives in the same remote village as Andrea. However, she lives in a happy family that has always loved and supported her. She has high self-esteem, is outgoing, joyful, never misses a chance to express her opinion, and doesn’t get upset by occasional harsh words or criticism.
“How much is ten minus two?” the teacher chirps.
Hands raising.
“Eight…” whispers Andrea, speaking to himself, head bowed over the book.
“Eight!” rings out Rebecca, with the brightest smile in the world.
“Very good!”
Despite Andrea’s shyness, it is evident from this example that the intelligence of the two characters is equal. One is recognized and complimented, the other, however, is not.
Of course, this won’t have disastrous repercussions on a person. However, if the insecurity persists, it’s easy to deduce that Andrea’s intelligence will continue to be taken lightly, to be ignored or excluded, and that his happiness is limited.
So, what makes Rebecca “win” in this banal example?
Self-esteem. Support. Love. Family.
4. Family
As a child, enclosed within my bubble of innocence and childish ignorance, I thought that all families resembled each other. That they all had the TV in the kitchen and watched game shows at dinner time, to name one. Or that everyone stayed home alone after school. That everyone spent time in their own room studying and reading. Or that everyone was a little afraid of mom when she came home from work.
Until one day, for the first time, I spent the after-school hours at a friend’s house. It was third grade. Her name was Lucrezia, and I liked her name because it reminded me of the word liquirizia, ‘licorice’.
Apart from the natural, immense excitement of spending the day in a strange house, I was astonished by the many ‘absurd’ differences I found there. Like a cultural shock that a European experiences when thrown to the other side of the world — except I was feeling it ten kilometers away from my own home.
Lunch was served all together, at the table, the whole family gathered, including the grandparents. The television was there, but it was off. We chatted about “how was the day?” and we openly shared the events of the morning. The games played at school, the topics studied, the homework to be done. Even my friend’s parents roughly explained their workday, with a big smile on their faces and the discretion to leave out details too complicated or too sad to understand for two seven-year-old girls.
So I came to a somewhat makeshift conclusion, but accurate enough. There were families that talked, and families that didn’t.
We were never a ‘talking’ family. Not that I noticed much, as a child. It just was like this, and I accepted it. And as dysfunctional as my family might have been, I liked it.
Now that I’m grown up, however, every time I’m invited to a friend’s house, I always notice the incredible nuances and many differences that each family carries with it. And it is so beautiful, and heartbreaking sometimes.
As I explained earlier, the family in which one grows up is a significant factor that influences an individual’s personality and capabilities. Therefore, it is evident that those who live in a dysfunctional family — or a ‘non-talking’ one, to quote the little me — cannot win at the Game of Life. But is it really so?
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Notes: Hi everyone! These four little chapters are part of a little project of mine, chaotic and spontaneous as everything in my life. A collection of memories, thoughts and stuff that is particularly close to my heart.
Hope you enjoy! Have a great day :)
Desi
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