The Privilege of Anger

Movie protagonists get a bad breakup on Christmas Eve and think to themselves it is a bad omen and the Christmas lights roll in their eyes and spill down their cheeks. I, meanwhile, am not a movie protagonist. On Christmas Eve, I have no break up to cry over, but for the first time in my life I felt a deep isolation and watching the moving roads outside the bus, finally alone, the scenery rolled down my face and I have no idea how to stop them. I was feeling brittle. My thoughts had to move along so they don’t crowd and drown me.

I cannot explain this terrible mental state I am in, or how it came to be without me realising. The faults started growing from awhile back, I suppose, slowly leaking till I am full of cracks like a Kintsugi cup. This is no safe environment no matter what they say. It’s about so many small things. The way they say they pity my future partner (should I be glad they at least thought me capable of finding a partner), or laugh with glancing eyes about a previous decision or mistake I’ve made. The way snippets of “prideful women” come from quite literally behind my backs … shaking their heads at my mistakes … “I don’t want to embarrass you” (don’t spare me the embarrassment, don’t give a half-hearted kindness). It’s the bad performance during the week, the silent disapproval and everything is my fault because no matter who kept screwing up my performance, I would have no team spirit if I blamed them. It’s the way people cared more about my scholarship than I do. The way they celebrate and taunt me when I underperform (have you been rooting for this?). The way they tell me to “try a little harder”.

Am I not the same as you? Being younger by a few years seems to make little difference in how they treat me. From now on no one will use kids gloves when handling me. It does not matter that they look more at their phones than at us, they talk more about me than to me. Who am I trying to prove myself to? I’ve given up trying to meet their expectations. I’ve given up on the Ziplocks and the force prep and trying to stay engaged. I can’t breathe. You will shake your head and judge and say I have bad attitude but I can’t breathe.

Maybe I am crying because there’s no way else to cope with it. I am not feeling anger, despite what everyone seems to tell me – “chill out”, “deep breath”, somehow my irritation is scary enough to be considered wrath – I have not been angry. When I feel sad, the sadness hurts my arms and floats on my skin like a sunburn. When I imagine anger I see bubbles rising in a murky water like an underwater volcano reaching boiling point. Having the privilege of anger stripped from me (should I risk the negative feedback? Should I wear it like an accessory that is extremely unattractive on a lady?), I am a mute with no way of lashing out and fending for myself. There is a purpose for each of our emotion. Maybe that is why I am feeling so brittle – if only I could act on that fantasy of throwing my stupid ziplocks on the floor and tell them in all honesty they wouldn’t be wrong to say that I am not interested to be here right now because I am in a terrible mental state. I wiped the tears from my cheeks and my cheeks recently have been really hurting. Behind the mask I have been smiling all week long, a long-conditioned reaction to people telling me to smile more to appear less intimidating. Maybe this is my only way to manifest anger, to write it down and give it shape, feel vulnerable and childish.

Maybe I am crying because I realise how alone I am here. Here: the start line to the new race. I had thought it was difficult because I will be competing with even better people, but I realise there is no one in sight and all I have is a grey road ahead by myself. It is difficult because I will have to do this alone, not expecting the cheering and family and friends at the end or along the way leaning past the parapets cheering “last stretch, you will make it”. Here is the start line. I look left and right and there is everyone around me, but I realise there is no one with me.

It is Christmas Eve and it is damp with thin lines of rain pouring concentratedly. I am cold now because we had run in the rain. My mask had gotten wet, and water was dripping off my cap, and I was wet and cold with the uniform plastered to my body and panting so hard, but it was thrilling and I felt free again. And for a brief period, I had not a single problem in the world.