Whenever I look in the mirror, I see a not-so-woman in there. I see.. a man. A man who embraces his controller and cricket bat rather than barbie dolls, a man who embraces his shirts more than skirts and most importantly.. a man who longs to be seen and treated as one.

Now this got me speculating.. what does even being a man mean? Does it mean, hiding your tears from your loved ones and putting on a wry smile? Does it mean putting on a poker face when one’s going through a rough time? Does it mean being shackled to the idea of chauvinism? Then I realised.. the answer to all of these questions is no.

One cannot define what a real man is. The “definition” varies for everyone. For he is human after all. He has the right to exhibit his emotions. He has the right to be thin-skinned. He has the right to be himself. There is no right or wrong answer. There are no moral absolutes. All I know is, even though I don’t conform to the “true notion” of what a man is, I’ll always be one, regardless of how others view me, I’ll always be one no matter what may come and I’ll always be one, whenever I look at the mirror.