Written By: Divyakshi Singh
The following piece is one of the winning pieces from the Sexual Harassment Awareness Fundraiser organized by Her Campus Ashoka. The writer used the following prompt: Write from the Perspective of an Organ in Your Body.
TW: The following article contains mentions of Body image and dysmorphia.
(The views and opinions expressed in this article are personal and do not reflect the views or official policy of Ashoka University, Her Campus, and Her Campus Ashoka University.)
I introduce her to the world each morning. It’s an admittedly boring scene though. Just a brown fan juxtaposed against a white ceiling.
No matter how much she thinks she doesn’t have it in her to deal with another day, I still bring her to that boring brown fan. It’s the first thing she must see if I am to let her perceive everything else that’s warm and beautiful and lovely.
I let her see her mum make pancakes in the morning for her. It helps her remember the warmness and sweetness of both; the pancakes, and her mum. A moment to forget about everything embarrassing that happened the day before, a moment to feel pure love and happiness.
I let her see her brother whining about the fact that the Nutella jar is empty, so that she realizes that she is not going to be around to witness his eight daily breakdowns once she moves out. If she doesn’t stop to cherish and absorb the little things about her life now, they’ll be gone forever.
In that way then, I have her best interest at heart.
In fact, I should argue that even in her worst moments, when she’s curled up in a ball and her head is spinning; the memories she thinks her brain conjures up, are all because of me. I’m the
source of all her happiest moments, of everything that feels like a beautiful warm blanket on a cold and stormy day.
I got to see the way she sat and ate oranges with her grandma in the winter sun. I got to see the way she sat in the cool breeze with her friends, lighting up their faces with her unnecessarily detailed stories. I got to see the way she went on a trek with her best friend, only for them to realize midway that both of them were too unfit for the task; and were now stuck laughing in the middle of a literal mountain. It makes me so very happy to see her live out her brightest and sun-filled days with me.
But I’m afraid that’s not all there is to me. I’m also, in a way, the cause for some of her greatest miseries.
She uses me to pick apart everything she hates about herself. She looks in mirrors and all she sees is an endless sea of flaws. Flaws that she somehow convinces herself are coming up and raging out of her each time she blinks or breathes or feels her heartbeat. I don’t really get to
choose, to just close off when she’s in that headspace though. No matter how much I’m gently nudging her to step away from the mirror, the photo or even the reflective surface, she just doesn’t listen.
Now I’m not proud of it, but that’s when I use tears as a tactic. I fill myself so up to the brim with them that I don’t let her see anything for a while. I don’t really enjoy it because, come on, they are pretty salty? How would you react if I came and poured a bucket of salt on you biweekly?
But I still do it. I phase everything out. I let everything become a blurry, hazy mess. In that moment, I hope her brain helps her find the clarity she so desperately needs.
If she does find that moment to stop and give me a break for a bit, I’d think about how her parents named her Divyakshi, which literally means “divine eyes”.
She always hated the name and honestly, I do too. I wish I was powerful enough to be divine. Maybe if I were, I’d make her stop looking at her body for a moment. I would make her see inwards, see all the beauty that she holds within, all the love she holds for everyone around her, all the potential and talent that she has, that has nothing to do with the way her physical parts are put together. I’d make her look at the vastness of the cosmos and the stars, maybe then she’ll realize that a few pieces of muscle and bone in one small part of the universe don’t need to bear such a disproportionate amount of the sadness of the galaxy. If I am the window to her soul, I want her to see just how beautiful it is. Maybe, just maybe, if she could see it for herself, she’d hate herself a little less.