Be a man. What does that mean? Be a man. How can I be a man? Be a man. I am a man. Be a man. Stop! Be a man1.
Be a man. Be-Be-Be-Beep-Beep-Beep2. I smacked my alarm clock with enough force to propel me into the sky as I jolted up3. A nightmare? No, a distant memory. I was stuck in that cheery, flooded room, with a silence so loud it could put the anechoic chamber to shame, and a disoriented feeling even the greatest of drunks couldn't prescribe. I wobbled to the exit, but that was a mistake, the silence was shattered and voices erupted out of the ground like the dead. It was a zombie apocalypse and I was the last survivor. They tried everything to stop me, but I was a train on a rail with only one destination in mind4. I made my way inside the room and cried. I cried like I always do. I cried like the baby I am.
It started back in grade five. No scratch that; it has always been. Ever since I was born, ever since I was a baby, ever since I was a kid. Unlike my sneakers, it seemed the only thing I couldn't grow out of. It was this weakness which plagued me; this bodily action I couldn't control; this bucket in my heart that would continuously fill and empty. I saw my brother, a face of stone that doesn't crack; he's a man who's strong, a leader, and lives freely. I saw my father, hardship written all over, yet he remains stoic, a kind, careful and experienced man. I see my mother, a warrior who's fought for us, a caretaker who listens, and the best hugger in the world. Then there's me, a boy who crumbles at every bit of adversity, a boy who can't speak up without getting a lump in his throat, and a boy who is not a man. Crying has been the recurring theme of my life.
I get up out of my bed and make my way to the washroom. The Mexican food the night prior was not sitting right. My stomach hurting told me something was up5. I had the strongest stomach in my family, the stomach that could handle the spiciest of spices. This was not a good sign, and I was in for a treat. It was going to be a long day.
Emotions. What are emotions exactly? Like a spectrum of feelings that control how I live. I've been told to overcome these trivial things. "How will you have success if you break down against adversity? Be tough!" They say. I grew up. I did as they said. Though it seemed the manual wasn't universal, because not only could I not control my feral, fluctuating emotions, but it pained me to do so.
After completing the usual morning routine, I put on some jeans with a tight belt, a black T-shirt and a vintage red sweater that belonged to my brother's closet. My stomach was screaming but time was moving faster than me so I chugged a glass of milk and left for the station. The city bus stop is a decent walk away, so I look around and really take in the beautiful scenery. "Nothing will stop me today" I repeat in my head. Lately, I've been thinking about how grateful I am and how I have everything I could ever need. Thinking this allows me to participate more proactively in my life rather than reclining into a chair and watching it go by me from the sidelines. I meet my two best friends there and the bus comes about seven minutes later. We quickly climb aboard and watch cars pile up behind us as if this bus was the Tsar of the roads. The trip to school takes exactly eight minutes and I rush into the doors with an aim set towards my philosophy class when the morning bell startles me. I hate that bell; it gets me every time.
What is a meaningful life? I pondered this question throughout the class as we watched a documentary on happiness and meaning. It touched on key principles from Buddhism and I was totally engrossed. It had to be the most interesting thing that week, though there was never a shortage of unique topics in that class. As 9:30 hit, something was bugging me, I felt uneasy and was definitely forgetting something, and then it struck me like a truck6. I stood up and ran out of the class, with hopes of rewinding time to reach the office at 9:25. Everyone was waiting, but luckily I wasn't the only one missing. Once the other slacker came, the co-presidents began explaining what was needed from everyone. Today was homecoming for our seniors girls basketball team and we were going to be here all night.
The pep rally came first and I had lots to do, starting with setting up the gym. I put up about eleven posters, walked about ten thousand steps back and forth from the gym to the second floor, and blew up about twenty-three balloons. I got lights set up, made sure the co-presidents were not too stressed and covered where others couldn't. I don't know where this unknown drive came from, but it might have been my own selfish hopes to make school normal again. When lunch finally ended, we got to our positions and waited for the classes to come rolling in. It went perfectly, from the speech, to the lights, to the team's runout, and to the dance. After that finished in the third period, it was repeated again in the fourth for the other two grades. Once again, it worked out great, maybe a tad sloppier, but nonetheless great. School ended, and the majority of the council went home to wind down and reconvene at 4. Sadly, I didn't have that liberty as I had to tutor a fellow peer and there was more to be done. As I dragged each exhausted leg down the hall towards the library, I noticed a grumbling that seemed to stem from my neglected stomach. I had just realized that in my rush today I had not eaten anything. As I tutored, I ate my small peanut butter sandwich and a banana. Not nearly enough. Oh well. At this point, I was long done with this day. I had a pretty rough semester and had been missing classes left and right; I was failing to care for my academics. There was only a little more to be done, then I could enjoy the game alongside my peers. After two more gruelling hours of work, lifting tables, and admitting entry to students, I was finally done with my obligations and enjoying the game was all that was left. I felt a sense of relief and pride as I reflected back on this long and eventful day.
The gymnasium was packed to the brim. There were hundreds of people represented in shades of red, black, or white. The Viking special. I realize it was a mistake not to save a seat beforehand. This was okay for me; it meant my work was valuable. I was running a shooting competition at half, but until then I could turn my thoughts off. The tip-off was just about to happen, but the ref gave a little wave to those of us on the sideline. As a basketball player myself, I knew this wasn't a friendly hello, but a message to get clear of the sideline near the net. It seemed it was only me who really needed to move, so I did. I began walking closer to the door and just stood where there was space. The whistle blew and the game began. "Buddy you can't stand there!" I turned to find a woman, though it wasn't her voice I heard. "She can't see", said one of the two men beside her. "Sorry", I apologized and shifted where there was room. "Not there either". Entitled adults thinking they own the place. No worries.
I moved another step over. "Get out of my way!" This man yells. Is he blind? Can he not see there is clearly no space anywhere? Whatever I'll ignore him. "Your long ass hair is in my face!" That pisses me off, I turn around with a sharp gleam in my eye, "Are you going to complain about everything?" This was a mistake. I feel something pressed against my ear. Before I can react, the crowd goes silent; my voice goes silent. I lose balance, placing a measly 150 lbs on the shoulders of the person beside me. Something catches in my throat, oh no, I know this feeling. I am teleported back to my old self like all that change I had made was for nothing. Thoughts were not forming, I was silent, and tears began welling up where anger should've been. I didn't know how to react.
I catch Mr. Jeffrey in the corner of my eye. I push through the crowd, hunched over, embarrassed to let others into my feelings. Reaching him, I opened my mouth but speaking had left my vocabulary, yet he understood me. I questioned if he was secretly J'onn J'onnz, telepathically reading me and taking me on a walk. He sat me down and the tears had no end like the Niagara Falls. I did manage to get the word "airhorn" out and I motioned to my ear. He left me, attempting to uncover more like a detective in action. I couldn't stand these loud hallways and directed myself towards the library, the silent haven of our school. I cried the most I had ever cried before, like all the water in me had a personal vendetta against my body and wanted to leave. I don't know why it happened, but I just couldn't stop it.
I had to explain the events to the principal, my parents, a police officer, my friends and my teachers. "Why didn't you hit him" they would say. "I would've fought him back" others would laugh. "And you didn't even say anything back to him?" some would ask. Man up. I couldn't. I am weak. I am no man. I am not my brother. I am not my father. I am Darshan.
I had lost myself. Not from wandering into an unknown area, but slowly, over time, eroding. I neglected myself. Each day, I told myself I was better than that and moved forward. Is it fair to say I moved forward, but in the wrong direction?7 Each day I decided to not cry, to not show my quirky, odd side, I rid myself of enjoyment. The things I stored within the deepest confines of myself grew. It was hard to tell at first, but this creature seemed to feed off time. It grew and grew and grew until I felt it pushing against my stomach. Then, my liver, my heart, my lungs. I couldn't breathe. And finally, it reached my throat. It peaked its head out of my mouth and showed itself to the world. I cried and cried and cried. Each second I cried some of it left me, until, I felt free. I promised myself to never let that creature grow again. To be true to my emotions and to be true to me, whoever that may be.
The coming weeks were difficult. I couldn't do any work as I felt it wasn't valued or appreciated in my community. I struggled with whether I wanted to continue grinding homework and extracurriculars or just sit back and watch TV. Every time I reminisce about my birthday, I recall the event that took place the night before. I stopped attending all meetings, I sat in my room more, and I was disassociated with the world. Until one day, I stood up, looked outside at the sunrise, and took a deep breath.
I seriously reevaluated who I was. Who Darshan is. Finally uncovering him after years of hide and seek. I realized it wasn't I who needed to become a man, but the definition itself that required changing. I needed to gain acceptance of myself and transform social norms so that I never have to hide my feelings again. Understanding that how I felt at that moment was valid and having a system that validates those emotions is crucial. I shall act the way I desire, maintain my health the way I deserve, and strive for that balance everyone needs. Darshan is a man who cries, a man that leads, and a man who grows. I will continue to stay close to my emotions, never letting them be buried or run rampant ever again. I am now comfortable in my masculinity. I am now, and will always, be a man.