NOT A SUITABLE PAIR

Today, I got ready, wore my clothes, and as I was putting on a pair of earrings through the tiny hole, a story whispered in my ears.

And so, I began writing this blog...I remember growing up hating accessories—partly because my ears never allowed me to wear them. I had those tiny, permanent gold earrings that toddlers get, and honestly, I hated them. I would watch other girls wear fancy earrings, matching them to their outfits every day, while I was stuck with the same old pair. It felt like I was trapped, as if my ears were shackled by something I had never chosen.

So, when I was 12 and found myself home alone, I saw an opportunity. My little hands reached for a pair of scissors, and in one bold moment, I cut the tiny wire of my earrings. As a little girl, it took guts to do this. When Mom came home later and saw me, she obviously yelled… but I guess, at that time, it felt like my only way out.I still remember the feeling—like I was cutting the rope that had tied me down for years. It was liberating, a breath of fresh freedom. But freedom, as I soon learned, comes at a cost.

As if the universe had its own plans, my ears refused to accept anything other than gold. Every new earring I tried brought pain, swelling, and discomfort. Eventually, I quit fighting and made peace with the situation. Maybe that’s what growing up as a girl often feels like—learning to let go of battles you know you can't win.

And so, I stopped caring for accessories altogether. I attended weddings with no jewellery, never bothered with earrings again. But I was always fascinated watching other girls casually change their earrings, swapping them out without a second thought—something I could never do. It sounds bizarre, but maybe we long the most for the things we are denied.

Years later, I decided to reclaim what I had lost. I got my piercings done again—not just one, but three. People warned me: "One piercing is painful enough, how will you handle three?" But pain wasn’t my fear anymore. I had already lived through the ache of longing.

Now, every time I change my earrings, I no longer see a wound that once bled—I see a passage that healed.