Dependent Independency

I got a new home as you might remember from when I was moving boxes the last time. I have only just unpacked the last of the boxes today. So, yay me, I guess.

On any random day, if you ask me to summarise what living alone feels like, I would immediately quip: Independent.; that’s what it feels like. And, on most days, I am. As independent as a flag roiling in the sky — free, happy, as high as it could be.

But just like the flag never gets there on its own, neither do I make it on my own, even though it might appear as if I do — sometimes even deluding myself. And this ‘independence’ is an everyday state. A constant struggle. A house of cards that you keep building but with a risk of falling with a single wayward wind. Okay, maybe not THAT fragile, but it is definitely on the spectrum of fragile.

Anyway. That’s what this post is about — the ‘dependence’ in my ‘Independence’.

To picture this thoroughly, here is some context. Right now, I am settled on my bed* as I type this piece on my laptop. Waiting for me to relax are a couple of pillows and a fluffy Jaipur blanket. Right here is also a shiny switchboard* that I can reach easily from my bed to regulate the speed of my fan*, control the lights* I wish to put on: white or yellow, and an extra plug-point* to charge my phone. My room also has another switchboard* that holds a mosquito-repelling machine* and the plug to an LED display* which acts as a night light.

Once I am done writing this piece, I will put the laptop away into the wardrobe*, cushioning it with my clothes. I might paint* my nails today if I am not sleepy, which I will do sitting by the full-length mirror as I pick a shade from the polishes that I recently finished arranging in the dressing unit*. The dressing unit also holds all my books — this was my idea of an ironic joke because I like telling anyone who’d listen that I hold intellect above appearance. There is also a Bluetooth speaker* which keeps me company with its music* for as long as I stay awake.

And finally shading me is my beautiful set of curtains* that I absolutely love. Let’s not get to the kitchen, except to say that it is stocked* well enough that if my mom visited, she probably would have only one or two complaints — and that too because moms have this pathological need to always have a complaint or two even with the perfectly fine things.

Why am I describing something so grossly personal about me like this?

To tell you that this is my privilege. I didn’t do this on my own even though on the surface it is all me. Every single asterisked element has its own story of how, either in response to my helplessness or their own niceness, someone lent me their support for me to depend on.

I Depend on Family

Ever since I moved out of my parents’ house, I have had my aunt and uncle supporting me. When I moved out of my aunt’s house, I thought that was the end of the support I got from her — but really, it had only barely started.

From populating my house with essential hand-me-down pieces of furniture to being there when I need a hand, I know I have them backing me if I falter.

I Depend on My Roots

There is not a single week that goes by without me running into some hurdle or the other. Today, I decided to cook some meat very optimistically before remembering that I didn’t know how the marinating mix was made. A few weeks ago, I was struggling to hire electricians at an affordable rate, and before that, I was struggling to install curtain rods in my bedroom.

These chores, I only got done because I could get on the phone and ask my mom and dad to walk me through the steps of doing it by myself.

I am guilty of criticising my parents’ parenting strategy and often blaming it for my hyper-independence, however, I would be a liar if I didn’t admit that they show up when I need it the most. Almost like an iron smoothening out the creases that threaten the veil of my independence.

I Depend on Love

Within the first week of my moving, I had my sister calling to check how my room looked and what my house looked like. Friends asking me if I needed any help, sending food, or sending mosquito repellent machines late at night.

For many weeks, until I didn’t have my mirror, my new roommate did this thing where she would tell me what she liked about my outfit every day as I left for work. “Yo, that skirt is so pretty,” or “hey, your hair looks nice today,” and once “damn, you look really good in your office clothes.” She didn’t know how much my self-consciousness had eased up or how light my footsteps got as I walked later into a workplace whose dress code still intimidates me.

Why I Bothered Writing About This

It is incredibly easy to look at self-made people and conclude that they made it there with no help or support. The 5-am CEOs and the struggling entrepreneur geniuses, nobody gets through life ‘independently’.

Independence is only a mindset. In achieving this mindset, there will always be dependency.

Unless you are Robinson Crusoe. Then you have my complete respect.