Mendacity and Vulnerability. 

“The sun hid behind the clouds. It was a black and white kind of colourful day. My feet sweaty from nervousness and fright, and my palms, waiting to hold a freshly brewed cup of caffeine, waiting to kiss my escape, and play tongue with the taste of it.
There was no wind that day, but there was essence. The essence of heavy silence. The precedent of uncomfortable loose thoughts like threads from a torn cloth. An essence that always lingered like a question unanswered. 
My mind spoke to me, or did it?


The peculiarity of normal things is that no one talks about it and because no one talks about it, it’s normal.

Vulnerability, however, is pretty normal, yet not spoken about.

Considered a weakness, vulnerability is looked at with shadowed eyes of plastered strength. 

There is a demand to be stone. 

There is a demand to be concrete. 
“It is beautiful to be vulnerable” somebody once told me and I wondered,

if it would be beautiful for me to panic, with a terrible heart ache like when a spear is stuck inside it, and I can’t pull it out, 

if it would be beautiful to break down in the middle of the night while everyone around is dancing to music and your ravenous mind is waiting to devour you whole.

I wondered if it would be beautiful to tell someone that I’m insecure about my appearances, I know I shouldn’t be, I know I show I’m confident but I am.

I wondered if it would be beautiful if I woke up screaming from a nightmare almost every night because someone taught me to be afraid of the dark when I could barely understand what this world was about. 
I wondered if at all vulnerability was beautiful, and I realised it was. It was beautiful because it was like looking at somebody’s naked soul, nothing to hide, 

but the world does not the naked soul beautiful.

The world is in love with a thousand levels of mendacity, and here we are, 

hating the truth 

hating the fact that we as humans are, after all, vulnerable 
because, come on, 

aren’t we too?”


Body shaming.

Two nice things we could do, One, stop telling people that they should bring changes in their body. 

Body shaming is not a petty thing. The girl you called fat, cries herself to sleep because she thinks less of herself and now starves to lose weight.

The boy you call skinny is over eating and straining his body at the gym to conform to your stupid idea of beauty and so your stupid mind can accept the least of him.

Why? Dont body shame people and don’t let people body shame you.

Stop telling people that they are not okay the way they are. You go around telling people to tone down and gain weight to look acceptable? Well, what’s not acceptable is your narrow mindedness that cannot accept the mere truth that everybody is just okay the way they are. 

Stop using phrases like ‘Real’ men have beards and are fit and ‘Real’ women have curves and not bones etc. 

Real men and women are however they want to be and they ought to be.

Real men and women dont let the world decide for them

and ‘Real men and women’ accept others for whatever they are.

Don’t ever, ever make somebody feel like they are not enough, that they are not acceptable the way they are.. because that’s brutal.

And secondly. Don’t let anybody body shame you. 

You are perfectly yourself and that’s the most beautiful you could ever be. Want to eat A large pizza by yourself? Eat it. Want to go take a run in the park? Do it. 

Want to be fit? Want to be fat? Do it, but, do it for yourself and not for every other stupid mind that thinks you should change. Your reasons to change should start and end with only you. The best thing you can do for yourself in this world of criticism is be an encouragement, so begin with yourself.


There is a labyrinth of colours inside me, that emit a fraudulent sense of comfort.

With disdain in my eyes, I look away from the mirror rebuking myself for being a symmetrical mess. Reprimanding myself, for being more, yet being less.

Underneath the censures there is a frail hope quavering, I reluctantly look back into the glass and I find it fading.

I have always failed to acquaint with differences and otherness. Not in others, but in myself. In accepting the variety in me, I’ve always seemed to need help.

Standing amidst this kaleidoscope of my being, I have only wished I was one colour. 

Drowning in the guilt of smothering myself I break the mirror. Never having to look at myself again. Never having to explain 

I almost believe I have my escape, but as I walk out, I see myself reflecting through the skies and I realise, you cannot run from yourself, no matter how hard you try.


Marlyn Pereira