Girl on Fire

Here is another entry in my erratic journal, which is turning out to be more of an inexpensive therapy session with the best counselor in town, moi.

When I was a kid, I once burnt my feet while taking steam. It was just one of those life events that occur for no apparent reason, but end up having a huge impact. The physical scars stand nowhere in comparison to the psychological ones. Running and playing, which are integral to a child’s growth, took a backseat for a while. Being an introvert, I found it even harder to make friends. That girl who can’t run went on to become that fat nerd who nobody knows but everybody feels comfortable making fun of.

Needless to say, I never attempted going near anything hot for a long period of time. Now in my twenties, I still cannot light a match, or use a lighter. As they say, once bitten, twice shy.

Recently, I was rather distraught at how shabby my clothes looked. I have never undertaken the seemingly simple task of ironing my clothes. As a scientist, I devised a method to get the nearest approximation to ironing – before drying my clothes, I would straighten them out, and once dry, I would fold and keep them underneath my bedsheet, my body heat acting as a natural iron. I had no complaints with this method, because nobody in an Indian hostel cares about being presentable.

Things changed a bit when I moved to Canada. Being a TA, I felt that looking like a vagabond wouldn’t be setting a good example for my students. I found a solution yet again – I simply started wearing clothes that required no ironing!

This worked very well up until the present, when I realized I had an entire collection of lovely pieces I had never worn. There is a small white lie here; given that it is lockdown, I was bored enough to rummage through my entire wardrobe, instead of continuing to wear one of 6 outfits I had been wearing for the last 5 years.

Thus, I decided, it was time, to get over my fears. On a fine Saturday morning, out came my headphones, and an iron. Slowly and carefully, I made my way through the big stack, keeping my strokes in tune with the rhythm. Needless to say, I had a lovely time. I found my perfect vacation in a small corner of my room, among a pile of clothes.

Multiple thoughts ran through my head. Who knew such bliss could be found in mundane domestic chores! Each piece of clothing brought back distant memories from faraway lands, stories I had locked up inside of me. There was my lucky green t-shirt, which I had worn to every exam in university, and that blue dress, which was gifted to me by a dear friend, who wasn’t in my life anymore. Such lovely material, and what a fine color. Yet, all I saw in it was hatred and repressed anger. Slowly, I ironed out the creases. When I was done with it, it looked alright, just a little faded, and with a single tear in a place nobody would have noticed. Soon, that tear would grow out of bounds, eating into the veins of the dress.

A classic hoarder, my initial reaction was to keep it, promising to stitch it, or to just handle it carefully. After all, it was an old favorite, with a lot of memories sewn right into the fabric of my being. Yet another part of me whispered that it was time to let it go. Yes, it was lovely and yes, I would always remember it fondly, but I had changed, and so had the dress. We didn’t fit each other too well as we once did, and thats okay. If only I could summon the courage to throw it out, there would be space in my closet for something that would be more to my current liking.

Lost in thought, the inevitable happened. The irom seared my thumb. The pain wasn’t immediate. When it came, it was a slow burning sensation. I ran cold water over it, and continued ironing. YouTube played a new song, and I immersed myself in it. Soon, I forgot that I had burnt myself yet again. I discarded both the pain and the dress in the bin, for good measure. The rest of my clothes now lie neatly stacked up in my wardrobe.

It is indeed a historic day for the girl who generally sleeps in a bed filled with clothes. When I looked in the mirror today, I saw a smart, confident young lady, with great taste, as reflected in her immaculate clothing. I can’t say I’ll be ironing anytime soon, for, indeed, it is tiresome; but I will no longer cower from it.

I felt a spark in me, and I tamed it, unafraid.

It set me on fire, but never again shall it burn me.