Glimpses of the person I used to be

by Yamini Jp

Every now and again I brush up against a forgotten detail about a past me. Most times I am able to keep going, keep driving, keep listening to that song or doing whatever it was that I was doing before this cold breeze came over me. But sometimes, especially this time, I sat in the memories. I allowed myself the luxury of reminiscence, nostalgia and even mourned the passing of this person I used to be. It does not feel complete though, so here come the words that have been swimming in my mind for a few months now.

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For people who knew me in my previous life, it was pretty hard to miss one detail about me. That of my identity as a dancer. For as long as I can remember, I have been a dancer. I strongly identified as a dancer, and I wrote Facebook captions like “Once a dancer, always a dancer.” Everything - childhood, adolescence, college, - every phase measured in what I was dancing at the particular time. Childhood and high school - a lot of Garvi Gujarat performances and navigating a new role, that of a performer. University - performances in Russia and learning how to become Prakruti in one of my Guru’s pivotal choreographic productions. I travelled all through India with my dance group where we performed and created memories continuously.

Recently I met someone who has known me for the last 4-5 years, and they were shocked to know that I used to be a dancer. Pure shock, across their face. I smiled, but did not know whether to be amazed or amused because that is not the me they know, and I do not blame them.

I did a grand dance performance on December 20th, 2015, left for Canada on December 28th, 2015, and have never danced since…

Body image, injuries, a sense of purpose aside, it was a communal act. And like any relationship, dance was love-hate for me. I loved how it made me feel, but I hated that it made me feel inadequate, which I did more times than I let people see. A lot of who I am as a person was shaped in those 17 years of me being a dancer. I still think in visuals, I am acutely aware of the discipline I can tap into, unlike no other. I am good with rhythm and can think in beats in my head. I can compartmentalize, and I can do multiple things well, at the same time. I think of the world in moving pictures and often imagine myself as a performer in this world. But I also doubt myself, like no one else ever will. Because I look at myself as a performer, I am aware of people seeing me succeed, and even more so seeing me fail. My coping mechanism to get away from the perfectionist in me is, to not try. Some call it procrastination but it stems from a deep-rooted fear of failure.

Recently, on a trip back home, I opened a drawer, full of things from my previous life. Interesting jewellery pieces that were a part of my identity. A fish earring here, a marijuana leaf necklace, an owl ring there. I sat in my old room, surrounded by only a handful of things from that time, that was all that was left. An old box, with my rusting ghunghroos, and my jewellery from this past life. I fought the urge to wear them and won - not only because I was jetlagged at 2am but because, it would've been rather rude of me to wake my family to a true Monjulika nightmare, which is exactly how I was imagining things would go.

There are a lot of Me-s I've left behind ~ a lot of lives I've lived before this. The dancing, ethnic jewellery wearing, happier version of this person still remains, in some parts of my memory and some other people’s as well. All this to not at all say that I want to go back to her and undo all the work I have done, on making sure she’s not a high-functioning-anxiety-ridden person walking the Earth. I do however want to meet her and see if she really thought she was happy. The me now, the ‘knowing’ me, sure thinks past me was happier, but somedays I am not so sure. Maybe she was troubled but did not even know? Maybe she had issues, but she just had not faced them yet?

Or maybe nostalgia is really not all that people make it out to be?

I do know I have left pieces of me in the places I used to go to, the people I used to be around, and the house I grew up in. Pieces that were the best of me, at the time. Pieces that bring a rush of memories when touched, felt, or remembered. Maybe there are pieces of me I am still collecting or trying to spread everywhere I go.

These glimpses have evolved through the years, the places I visited seemed much larger in my head than in real life. The friends I see now on video calls seem unreal even sitting across me in a coffee shop. I will continue to collect these pieces, for myself. These moments that made me who I am, the people, the stories they all contributed to this me that I am. Who knows, one day the ghungroos will be worn again, the owl ring will make an appearance again. Or maybe I’ll find new pieces to fit this puzzle...

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If you liked this post, please tell us in comments because maybe it'll make Yamini write more and then we’ll read more, and the world will be a better place for it :)

Yamini Jp is one of my university besties and someone I am extremely proud to know and have in my life. She is a Client Success Specialist by profession and a “frustrated perfectionist” by admission.

Really hoping for her to be a regular on this blog as not only is she a wonderful human being, but she also has a way with words. Read some more of her beautifully written pieces here