The Invisible Alien

UNMASKING entry #3

Growing up, I was invisible. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. I was a blank slate, ready and waiting to be filled. A doll for my mother to dress. A mind for my father to mold. A pet for my older brothers to play with. And an occasional punching bag for all.

But I don’t want this to be a story about victimhood, about heroes and villains. I’m not saying I wasn’t loved. Or fed. Or educated. Or given the privileges my family’s means allowed. I just never knew who this “I” was. And it felt like no one else much cared to know either. So this “I” learned to shape-shift, people-please, fill the holes in people’s hearts, be their shoulder to cry on, their safe space, their partner in crime. And yes, even their punching bag, too, from time to time. 

Turns out “I” was something of a chameleon, a performer, a time-traveling, dimension-hopping wonder. Different things to different people. But alien to myself. A visiting alien adopted by earthlings; an invisible spirit embodied, emboldened, by this sack of skin - this container of liminal light, this magic mirror that reflected what was both whole and broken, within and without, an individual piece in this larger mosaic masterpiece.

“I” is a teller of stories, yet an unfolding story herself. She’s a witty and judgemental Elizabeth Bennet, an overthinking and scattered Raskolnikov, a whimsical and naughty Puck. She’s the romantic yet foolish Cinderella, but her driven and diabolical stepmother, too. She’s the antagonist to her every protagonist, the Zeus to her Hades. She is irony and paradox, metaphor and mayhem, first person fearlessness in third person shadows.

On her heavier days, she is reminded of her invisibleness, the idea that she is unseen, unheard, and unknown. On those days she feels weighed down by her own inconsequentiality - all weight and no substance.

But on her best days, she embraces being alien. She was gifted a round-trip ticket to this seemingly circular narrative, this epic saga-like storyline, this magnificent realm of 3D sculptural artistry, with a front row seat to the absurdist self-destruction of an ailing species, and humanity’s tragicomical efforts to save and redeem it.

In fact, she was granted a leading role. Which role, you might wonder? Could she have been one of the most acclaimed movie stars of her time? Perhaps someone powerful, like a presidential candidate? What if she’d been given the role of the young, wise-cracking Palestinian girl, who wanted to grow up to be a journalist? Well, we all know how short-lived that role would’ve been.

So what role did she end up with? 

A woman? But who would choose to be a woman in this world that seems to hate them? A Pakistani? American? Goodness! Middle-aged? High school teacher? This casting is all wrong! Single mother? Unknown writer? Hai Allah, Muslim?! 

Maybe it’s better if she just hides out here, then, in her little supporting role, quietly eking out an inconsequential existence, until her story finally reaches its denouement.

But then she thinks of her - the Palestinian girl that could’ve been. That wise-cracking smile. That raucous laugh. The twinkle in her eyes. The love in her bones. She was never even given a chance.

I have that chance, though. To make my role count. To make my story mean something. To break through the limitations of self-imposed labels, unencumbered by the weight of worldly stereotypes, fuelled by the desire to redefine what it means to be a “me” on this already halfway completed journey.

That is the real privilege, isn’t it? Not seeing Taylor Swift in concert or traveling to Rome and Paris. Not being crowned a Harvard graduate or climbing the corporate ladder to nowhere. Not adding up the TikTok views or potential Oscar wins. Sure, those would be great, too. But I’m here, and that’s what matters. I’m still here.

Part of me may be invisible and alien, but the other part has a human voice and body with organs to match. This other part has a role to play of consequence, and she’s nobody else’s blank slate. She’s the creator of her own storyline, the molder of her own mind. A traveling circus of wonders. A shape-shifting character, part-hero, part-villain, in a genre-bending saga of mythic proportions.

You see, growing up, I was invisible - unseen, unheard, and unknown.

Turns out my invisibility helped set the stage for my real superpower to emerge. My ability to keep recreating my role, my Self, until I found a way to dissolve and transcend that Self altogether. So that “I” was then free to just be. 

All substance and no weight.