Hey there,

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This is about opening a dialogue.

 

At the tender age of 10, I interrogated my mother on her preference between singing or dancing only to be shut down by a "Why does it matter?” Well, I didn’t interrogate her but you get the idea.

I was only inquisitive because I enjoyed both and wanted to know more about which one we could share. Regardless of the answer, I extended my effort, "Did you dance or sing in school?"

Her father refused to pay the costume fee when she showed interest in a dance group. “Anything other than reading was undesirable to be a part of,” he had instructed.

”Did you like sports or any specific game with your friends?”

She responded with a heavy sigh that she frequently changed schools because of her grandfather's repeated postings, so making friends wasn’t feasible.

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A seemingly unimportant question gradually became a string of traumatic revelations. But I was 10, so we went on with the questions.

"Mom, why don't I ever hear any fun stories from your childhood?" Without even realizing, I was sprinkling salt on a poorly patched wound.

"You wouldn't understand because you have it so easy now."

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The following years, every time I innocently slid in a problem of mine that I so dearly wanted to discuss, they dodged it with a problem of their own from the past, in hopes of making me realize how easy my life was in comparison to theirs.

’When will we stop glorifying suffering and accept that the current generation and the context in which we live are not exempt from difficulties?’ I thought to myself.

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I understood where they came from. I understood their hardships. I understood their experiences. But that shouldn’t have meant that mine had to be neglected. Each generation has a different battle. Maybe, it’s time we accepted that.

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For all the readers today, I invite you to respond to this mail because this is truly going to be about opening a dialogue.

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