I’m the girl who’s sitting opposite you on that (miraculously) not-so-crowded metro and rolling her eyes at you. Because you’ve been staring at the sixth page of Fifty Shades of Grey (ughh) continuously for the past twenty minutes in an attempt to impress the Lit student you’re possibly dating?
I am the girl on the bus whose headphones are held together by scotchtape and La Valse D’Amelie is playing on the mp3 player extremely loudly. My head outside the window – lost scrunchie, hair amiss, chocolate in hand – and the Punju aunty beside me going, “aaye haaye, aajkal ki kudiyaan!” Occasionally, I am the girl who falls off these buses.
I’m the girl who conjugates French verbs to keep calm.
I’m the girl who wrote a poem about you and you didn’t understand.
I’m the girl who told you, in a fit of rage, that having a passport means having a home. And probably meant it.
I am the girl who squinted into the sun when you asked her what she does for a living.