Credit: Pinterest (Grace Elizabeth),  2019

Forbidding, unfeeling, austere. I’ve heard these and their less sophisticated synonyms, at various points in my life.  More regularly than I’d care to admit. Heartless, one once called me. Really people really? Now that I must dispute. A slow pulse I may have, but it works perfectly fine for the activities that I’m inclined towards. And no, I’m not unemotional either. I just prefer not to idolize my feelings. People misunderstand me in this way. Empathizing, many times painfully, and vicariously through random strangers,  comes way too easily than I’m comfortable with. And I hate it when I get there, because it’s a faucet I can’t turn off. So aloof we go.

When I think of myself, the very last thing that comes to mind is glaciers. I think of fire, good fire, the one that lights up our homes, and gives us warmth and makes me good tea. That fire. Sun fire, sahara hot, beating down the remotest of coldness in my life. And I think of glittering lights for my eyes. Not anger glitters people, have you ever heard of the word “passion”? Look it up. And my manly walk and robotic movements, I prefer to call focused efforts to propel my motion forward, always forward people, always forward. And my provocations, defiance, and bluster really? Bluster? Come on, even my haters know this is unmitigated bravado which I’m quick to back up with precedent, data, evidence, figures. Ahem, bear with us. I’m into hyping myself up these days.

You see people, there is no ice here, it’s tempered passion. Unabridged amazonianhood. I once read a novel about a lost tribe of women who lived in the Amazon. Tall statuesque warrior women. The image has always stuck with me. Dare I say that that is how I view myself? So it wasn’t exactly the most ideal of foundations, at least not one receptive to the maze of  jungian and myers-brigg theories that has had the internet ablaze for a while. It was indeed with much surprise that I found myself almost gleefully diving down a rabbit hole of discovery into this part fact, part myth cult that constitutes personality archetypes in modern times. I cannot tell you the amount of blogs, because of course blogs, I’ve scrolled through waiting to catch someone in a barefaced lie. You mean you actually understand a little bit about me. Nooooo. No one is allowed to know me better than I know myself. And I’m torn between resentment that someone has got a number on us and excitement that someone has got a number on us.

To clear all doubts and prevent triggered dudettes coming after me for this seemingly misleading title, there will be no biology lessons to be had today. But we’ll have dissections, of our lives yes, because those are the only dissections we do now. Ever. I mean always, of course. Friends, frenemies ,welcome to our corner of the World. We know you, we recognize you, even those master procrastinators who crunch 3 months’ work into 2 sleepless nights, we are together in eternal guilt and never ending lists and tasks. Having said that, I don’t believe anyone could ever tell me what my house is, not even I can. But we can agree on my neighbourhood. It’s all cold outside. And smouldering inside. 

Hall mark traits? Some of my most creative of thoughts are my morbid musings, it would have been beautiful I assure you, the ingenuity-we’d give everyone ideas, we’d make headlines. Ahem, but we’re alive, and there’s beauty in life people. It is enough to know that I am here for a season. And it is enough to know that I’m competing with each one of you in striving to do good for The Exalted. And I’ll be damned if I let my enemies get the better of me in this regard. Ahem, that is not to say that our primary motivation is competition, we love serving people, even those ones we can’t stand, there’s satisfaction  in this I have come to learn. Indeed, to know that we are better than you after all, what more reward does one need. I kid, I kid!

I have a thing for authority, I like goading it. Pulling its tail. Testing its mettle, I don’t know what it is that makes me rebel against any sort of perceived authority. And I hate that, because there’s wisdom to be learnt from people who came before you. But we’re working on it. My supposed stare or resting bitch face cannot be helped. Sometimes I’ve got a deer in headlights expression you see, and my mind is in Jupiter. It means nothing really. Half of the time, we’re not looking at you…or listening either.

I love my company. I’m sitting here writing this with my whole family asleep and those are the best of times. Me, my laptop, my Lord. I don’t know why people are terrified of being alone, when they constitute some of our most exciting and inspiring of times. Just fill it up with things that you love and you’re good. Oooor , leave it empty and stare at the wall, and just go through galaxies and black holes, and beyond. That beyond is my sweet spot, my watering hole when I need a break.

The thing about being cold and cushitic is that it’s the complete antithesis of what’s expected of a cushitic woman. Being garrulous and chirpy and accommodating and bubbly, and meek, and well mannered, and demure and, everything I’m not. The idea that there’s this normal nature and personality expected of cushitic girls I have always thought completely bizarre.  You grow up thinking you’re abnormal, and yet there’s everything to be gained in being reserved, and quietly fervent, and atypical. A filter for people who aren’t anything close to your crew.  I consider myself to be a starry eyed cynic. Because I still believe in the beauty of  goodness in the face of evil, but have the right amount of skepticism to know that it’s rare to get it in this very selfish, cruel, unjust world.  An intense, somewhat masculine personality playing a feminine role, that’s us people.

It goes without saying that I don’t abide by rules just because I’m supposed to. And I may be methodical in the way that I approach life but I’m not super organized. I gotta have something off in my wardrobe or desk, or I’ll go crazy. I still know where everything is, but I can’t stand the straight and narrow, at least not for things I don’t find particularly important. And no, I don’t know it all. I’m always up to pick your brain. I’m always up to change my mind. Convince me. And please do throw a few compliments here and there. Of my work. Coz that’s the only kind we accept. I know darling, not all women want what you think we want. But there’s a fine balance, mind. Come on, every week is overkill. One or two per year should do it. Yeeeeees, we have got a bit of shallow in us. Or more than a bit. Kind of like most human beings (shhh don’t tell anyone that.)

We’re here, we’re better than you, nastier, cooler than you. We are the modern version of the cold cushitic woman. And we make no apologies for it.