I am a happy wife, mother and a working woman. But I wish to have an affair.
Judging me already, are you?
For years I have been slogging day and night for the happiness of my family. Waking up in the mornings, dressing up my kids for school, tending to my old in-laws, cooking, packing lunch.
When I return home, I rush to make dinner. Then it’s time for me to turn teacher and tend to the daily school work of my children. By the end of the day when it’s time to retire, I am a mess. Perspiring. Tired. A sight that is totally unromantic for my hubby.
“You’ve lost your charm, he says”, looking at my shapeless body, at my saggy breasts which were once firm, at my tummy covered now with layers of fat, left from childbirth. “Why don’t you work out? Look at all the Bollywood bahus even after their deliveries. You must learn to take care of yourself”.
That night I mull at his words, thinking about the lives of the celebs, how they have it together. They work and workout. But wait, they also have a support system and the financial means to afford the extra help for their house and kids, don’t they? Access to the latest beauty treatments and self-care? I try to think if there is some extra time or energy that I may have left from my day to cram some physical activity into it before I hit the bed.
I miss my life; life when I looked perfect; when I was desired. I look around me and see the lack of excitement and romance now. And then, I wish to have an affair. Yes, yes I know how slutty it sounds. But I want to have an affair, I want to be touched, desired. I want to feel that rush of adrenaline and butterflies that is felt in a new love. A loving caress, an endearing hug, an acceptance of who I am, the way I am. Acceptance of my beauty, or the lack of it. Of the scars and the stretch marks and the stories they hold. Of the extra lines on my forehead, and around my eyes. I fantasize wild lovemaking as my fingers touch myself, imagining a lover in my head kissing all my imperfections. Pleasured and spent, I fall asleep.
I am doing it all, isn’t it? Then why do I have to have the extra pressure of looking young and beautiful too? Does life ever go backward? Why can’t we romance life for what it is, as it is? Why do we desire for everything to be perfect? Why are the false ideology of beauty and everlasting youth perpetuated so much to women?
I wish to have an affair- and what is an affair even? A relationship, a romance, an attachment, right? So yes, I want to have an affair- an affair with myself first and maybe with life? Where I am happy and content, and in love with myself. And the people around me are happy and content and love me back for who I am. Where my physical shortcomings and imperfections do not determine my worth as a person. Where self-care and self-love are not termed ‘selfish’.
