Protecting My Bubble
Image: Unsplash
Re-watching old home videos during the first lockdown were one of many ways I, and many others, I’m sure, spent my extra time. I don’t need to describe this to the Tamil community but taking photos with every person who attends your birthday is tedious. However customary it was to every special gathering, having to wait through this part of the event continues to be a gruelling undertaking. As I watched through all of these scenes of my first birthday video, and despite having watched it several times before, I noticed something I had never noticed before: my mom navigating consent for me when guests who asked repeatedly if they could hold me throughout the event. I watched as my mom looked at my reactions to people I didn’t recognize, people I hadn’t built a relationship with, and only pass me to guests I felt comfortable with. Watching my mom prioritizing consent in this way reassured me that the foundation for building consent culture at home, in relationships, classrooms and elsewhere was laid out for me before I had even realized it. And although I am grateful that my personal space was protected, learning to draw boundaries for myself became increasingly turbulent as I grew older.
The concept of self-love continues to be co-opted by capitalist agendas and their mission to put a price tag on nearly everything. What’s worse is the promise of “healing” we often find ourselves buying into when the pain is too much. I used to forage through the aisles at every candle and inscent selling store at local malls and tiny shops…searching for an external remedy for a feeling of discomfort from within developed into a quite demanding task. At the time, as an undergraduate student, active in different organizing initiatives, I was able to advocate for everyone and everything else but myself. Now, older and I would hope wiser, as I sit through graduate school with people who don’t and will never share the same lived experience as me: I continue to reclaim my space by drawing boundaries through conversation. Asserting my existence in a space never meant for me, or rather racialized people in general, can feel uncomfortable at times but necessary for survival in and beyond school.
“Now, older and I would hope wiser, as I sit through graduate school with people who don’t and will never share the same lived experience as me: I continue to reclaim my space by drawing boundaries through conversation.”
I recently spoke to a friend who asked me: “how would you introduce yourself?” I, jokingly, responded, “probably just my name.” She replied with words that encouraged me to step into the power of shaping and reclaiming my own narrative. Reclaiming your narrative is a powerful act, in my opinion, for this reason alone: the power to shape your existence holds an incredible amount of healing potential. However, to reclaim a narrative of chronic pain and illness, I had to name what shaped me and continues to shape me: violence. In The Wretched of the Earth, Frantz Fanon points out that,
“[t]he colonist and the colonized are old acquaintances. And consequently, the colonist is right when he says he “knows” them. It is the colonist who fabricated and continues to fabricate the colonized subject. The colonist derives his validity, i.e., his wealth, from the colonial system.”
Reclaiming our narratives, detaching them from a fabric held together by persistent colonial violence, is an ongoing commitment. It is a commitment rooted in advocacy and self-love. I learned to advocate for myself when I realized the layers of violence that rendered me silent for years of my life. Advocating for myself, publicly and privately, has been the most significant component of my self-love journey.
Valentine’s Day, in all its capitalist glory, is right around the corner and I want to remind you that the most radical form of love is self-love. That journey can start with shaping and claiming a narrative that protects your bubble.
“Advocating for myself, publicly and privately, has been the most significant component of my self-love journey. ”
