Poornima Manco

Author

heirarchy

Wrung out

by

“I don’t know how you do it!” is a refrain I hear often. The ‘it’ being – working which involves a lot of travel, taking care of home which involves cleaning, cooking, doing the chores while also parenting and trying to be a supportive partner, while keeping up with my exercise and friends, TV shows, movies, reading and writing. All of this is in no particular order as depending on the day and the need, the hierarchy gets moved around a fair bit.

Now, if I were to be honest, while I may look swan-like getting it all done, there is some furious paddling going on beneath the water, and often times tasks are either hurriedly done or left completely by the wayside. Neither of which are desirable outcomes. My story is no different to any other working mother, some of whom don’t even have the kind of super supportive husband that I do.

The month of June was meant to be the month I took off social media to focus on work and writing. I have done both, but life does have a funny old way of throwing a spanner in the works.

My daughter’s A levels are going on, and rather than being that nagging mother who is on her back 24/7 haranguing her to study, I thought, this would be the perfect month to work to my max, and stay out of her hair. After all, at this late stage, it’s better for her to have a relaxed state of mind to sit her exams. What I couldn’t possibly have foreseen is the ill health of my second daughter. An ear infection that has her screaming in agony, sleepless nights, an allergic reaction to the antibiotics, another rushed visit to the doctor’s, being given an unsigned prescription on a Friday evening making it near impossible to procure the medication, husband running from pillar to post and finally, miraculously, through some fortuitous messaging, getting a hold of the meds.

While the medicines do their work, I am at work again. This time, however, I find I have a short fuse, am completely exhausted and totally unable to string a coherent sentence together. Writing? Once again on the back burner.

Sometimes I despair that I’ll never become the sort of serious writer I aspire to be. The one who gets up each morning and in a very disciplined manner, trots out a couple of thousand words before serenely taking out the garbage and getting the rest of her chores done.

Me – I write when I can, where I can. Sometimes, not for weeks. And when I do, it’s not always the best quality. What hope is there for me?

My mother always said that I could be a bulldog about the things that I wanted. I really want… no, I really need to write. I guess its sheer tenacity that keeps me going. That, and a sense of catharsis and peace. Each time I sit down to write, I feel like I’m coming home. This is where I’m meant to be, this is what I’m meant to do.

So, in answer to the oft repeated question, how do I do it? I do it. Badly, haphazardly, intermittently. Still, I keep going. Tired and wrung out as I am, it’s the only way I know how to live. All those multiple balls in the air… some will fall, some will roll away, but I’ll keep juggling them till I have breath left in me.

Now, I’ll go take a nap.

 

Pecking order by Prianka

by

The hierarchy of secondary school. Or, as I like to call it, the stupidity of teenage children.

Growing up, we always look at ‘high school’ as the years you will succeed, go to prom with a handsome boyfriend and go to exciting parties.

At least, that’s what movies like High School Musical and Mean Girls teach us.

Actually, it is the opposite. It is the time where you learn that standing out may not be a good thing, despite your parents saying so. You learn, that putting your hand up in lessons isn’t cool by the standards of the popular people. You learn, that having opinions gets you bullied.

I learned this the hard way.

I learned this from getting weird looks after doing something remotely ‘different’. I learned this, by getting laughed at after putting my hand up too much. I learned this, after having views in RE(Religious Education) that deemed me the opinionated feminist girl amongst the boys.

But the popular girls, they somehow got it right. On the first day of school, they all stuck together, like a pack of wolves. But all white. Coloured people aren’t cool, I guess?

The stereotypes aren’t like, ‘the goths’, ‘the nerds’, or the ‘drama club’. It goes in two ways. Those who are cool, and those who aren’t.

I fall amongst the latter.

I have gone through school, being terrified of the popular boys and girls. Only last week, none of my friends were in my DT(Design Technology) lesson, and no one sat with me. I was alone at a whole table by myself. This led to me running out of the classroom in tears, because I felt like I wasn’t worth sitting with.

The popular girls have the ideal secondary school experience, with the boyfriend, the prom, and the parties.

The rest of us are left clinging to each other, trying to keep our confidence from crumbling, and trying to ignore the obvious fact that we aren’t loved or cared about by our peers.

After a while, we manage to not let it affect us too much. But there are moments when we still crave to be popular and be invited to parties.

Sometimes, I wonder where these people will be in 10 years. Will they be successful? Will they have huge families? Will they still be popular? Or will these years be their prime, and will they slowly fall and reduce to nothing?

The truth is, we don’t know. We don’t know what will happen in the future. A lot of our teenage years go towards trying to figure out what our future will be. From choosing our GCSE subjects at 14, and then doing the actual exams at 16.

But I can’t judge all of the popular people by the same yardstick. The time I ran out of my DT lesson, one of them came after me and invited me to sit with her.

Maybe I just have to get to know them, and I will like them better. But that won’t change the fact that they have ignored me for so many years.

The idea of leaving secondary school is exciting for me. Meeting new people, and finding my place in the world.

Until then, I am caught in the grasps of the hierarchy of social lives and popularity.

 

 

Hi! I am Prianka and I am 13 years old. If you remember that article from a while ago, I was the one who asked where the smoked salmon was in the middle of the fish market in Pondicherry. I love Shawn Mendes and llamas and I hope to become an actress one day. And an author. I hope you enjoyed my thought piece.