To be known

I think I have exhausted every mildly interesting trait about myself by oversharing on social media. At this point, I honestly cannot think of a confession because opening my writing account has led to me wearing my heart on my sleeve and now strangers know the deepest of my insecurities. Fun!


But it’s ironic, because I seem to say so much and yet no one really knows me at all. I think I’ve gotten so good at letting people know sides of me that I want them to - both good and bad- that I’ve successfully led people to believe that they know who I am, when in fact I have so many things that I keep to myself, no matter how much I trust a person.

And that brings me to my confession - I do not know who I am, and I’m constantly on the search for ways to find out. This has even made me far too self-aware - I recognize way too many characteristics about myself, and whether that’s a by-product of being a psychology student or a reader or just my personality, I don’t know. I feel like I’m at that stage where everyone around me is trying to figure out who they are, so I’m in no way alone, but it also does seem like they have a semblance of an idea. What I would really like is for someone to sit me down and tell me “Ananya, here’s a detailed and comprehensive list of all your major drawbacks and skills, colour-coded by importance.” Truly, that would be great.


I once saw a popular post that said, “Intimacy is being known.” and that is beautiful. Because that is what it is in it’s very essence. I suppose, more than wanting to know who I am, I want to be known.


I want someone to know my coffee order and my favourite toothpaste and my expression before I cry. I want someone who knows why I move my fingers rhythmically in counts and why I have an indent in my thigh and my favourite feeling in the world. I want someone to look at me and be able to tell I’m overwhelmed, to memorize my list of favourite characters, to know when I need to rant.


It’s the little things, the tiniest, most inconsequential, minute, trifling things, that mean the world.


I hate to admit it, because it’s just so darn cheesy, but my absolute favourite thing in books and movies are those confessions, when Character A is distraught that Character B could never care for them, and then Character B stops in disbelief and lists a dozen tiny details they’ve observed about Character A because they’re so in love. It’s hands down my favourite - nothing tops it for me. And maybe I’ve held on to it, dreaming that one day, someone will love me with that intensity and care, that they’ll know the little things. Perhaps it’s the idea of being loved so wholly and completely.


One Direction sang:

“I won’t let these Little Things slip out of my mouth,

But if they do, it’s you,

Oh it’s you they add up to,

I’m in love with you

And all your Little Things.”


And it makes me think, perhaps, at the end of the day, we all just want to be known.



Author: Ananya Chaure

Editor: VR Kapse


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