Letters to my Imaginary Therapist

By veena

Ria Sharma unravels her mental and emotional trauma by writing letters to her imaginary therapist she created. She detailed situations and stories from her early life to adolescent years, describing the toxic and suffocating culture her parents created. The expectations of the Indian culture was just the icing on the cake.

Born and raised in Toronto to Indian immigrant parents, Ria was entangled with her thoughts, wondering how to cope and understand what happened. Nothing was ever good for her parents she discovered. She was always a failure in their eyes. Her identity was a façade.

Ria never received the apology she deserved. The letters take her and her fictional therapist on a journey of mixed emotions. She begins to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tablo Publishing
• Release date: Aug 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781649699312

Book preview

letter 1

I am not okay. I could physically come to your office, but I’ll be honest, that’s not gonna happen anytime soon so letters will suffice. I have become too prideful like my parents and my burnt-up ancestors. I carry the big-ass ego genetic trait – a fuckin’ mutation in my DNA if you ask me. I wonder where it came from like who was the OG that was like naw, lemme fuck up the bloodlines after me. Congratulation, you created a generational curse!

The Indian community doesn’t believe in seeking out mental health help and unfortunately, I have convinced myself that I am not worthy of help either. I don’t think I’m the only one out there with this thought process. I believe it’s ingrained in all children wherever they are born if your bloodline consists of that desi-ness (unless you got lucky to dodge this curse). 

Pause. 

**Disclaimer 1: This does not apply to all Indians. This may turn on a light bulb in your head if you are or are not Indian. ** 

**Disclaimer 2: When I refer to Indians, I mean Indians from India located in South Asia. The Indigenous community are not Indians (Columbus was a fuckin’ piece of shit). **

Okay, play. 

This sick belief of not accepting that you are suffering mentally and emotionally is quite detrimental when you reach your twenties. I am living proof. I was never taught how to deal with my emotions so to this day I have major outbursts and tantrums when my feelings get triggered. My parents never behaved as parents so couldn’t really expect much from them. 

My name is Ria Sharma, and I am 23 years old. I strongly dislike my parents, who embody the old, traditional, toxic aspects of the Indian culture. Wait. You may be wondering why and not for the reasons you think. Before you jump to conclusions, keep reading. And trust me, I don’t believe I am the only one out there with these types of experiences. I believe in helping the community who are suffering as well. 

I’ve heard non-Indians say that the food is amazing. We have fun weddings and bomb music. Heck, we have Bollywood! And let’s not forget, being smart at math (I didn’t get this gene so don’t get excited). Sure, the list is great, but you’ve got to understand, you are seeing things from the outside. The Earth is built up of many layers. If we dig a hole, can we see all of them? No. It would take years and years to uncover all the good and bad things that are under our feet. For simplicity’s sake, let’s say you are viewing from a graveyard’s perspective. When you dig the hole that belongs to a dead corpse, you have uncovered my life in a nutshell.

At this point, there is an auntie out that wants to slap me or snitch on my parents. Where are my aunties at by the way?! I know. They are probably thinking of ways to shut me up cause I go against the norm of that innocent, well-mannered girl. I talk back and do the opposite of everything Indian parents want which is beautiful in my opinion. The future is female, am I right? 

Now here’s the thing, I say aunties because let's be real here, they do the most shit talking. It’s their hobby to whine about things that don’t affect them. They are concerned when other girls are gonna get married or the fact that they have lost their culture and less worried about raising their privileged babied sons to be decent, responsible human beings. It’s always those aunties trying to control my life because they never had a life of their own. 

I am aware that I am jumping all over the place but isn’t that what therapy is – to unravel the root cause. Well, if it’s not, you’ll figure out where I am going with these letters. 

I just want to mention before you go any further, negativity helped me survived. When I was positive, things would go downhill, and thus, I would be severely disappointed. So, when you read the forthcoming letters and think to yourself, wow, she is bitching and moaning understand that I needed to go through bad times to feel like I’ve healed. I had to live in a parallel universe till I couldn’t do it anymore. I think it’s called maladaptive daydreaming. 

Be gentle, please. And no judging. 

But also, I’m here to expose you to the not-so-nice sides of Indian culture. 

Best, 

Ria

letter 2

Who the fuck am I? What the fuck am I supposed to be doing with my life? I should have probably mentioned that I am an Indo-Canadian – Indian ethnicity, Canadian nationality. 

So again, who the fuck am I? Where do I belong in this world? Am I failing my ancestors? Hang on, why should I care what they think? They created a generational curse. I have yet to find the key to break this chain. I mean I don’t think I’ll find a key cause my parents didn’t let me have a key to my room or even have a lock installed. 

I look Indian – fair brown skin, black hair, and brown eyes. But on the inside, my ass is nothing of what is expected to be considered a true Indian. This isn’t what I was thinking though. This is what other Indians have told me. I have an identity crisis. I am not Indian enough according to Indians born and raised in India because I was born and raised in Canada. I am whitewashed to them. And then to white people, I am not white enough (not that I want to because this isn’t their land, to begin with). So, again, who the fuck am I? 

I didn’t grow up as a traditional Indian where cultural values instated by elders are what embody a dedicated and well-cultured desi girl. I grew up as me. One who doesn’t believe in stupid traditional roles. One who doesn’t believe in religion or a god. One who doesn’t believe in respecting those that are elder just because they are senior. One who doesn’t listen to others. One who doesn’t wanna be a doctor, lawyer, or engineer. One who doesn’t want to be restricted and be conformed to someone she is not. One who doesn’t believe in promising a girl’s hand in marriage at the age of 6. 

I am someone who goes against all norms that the culture preaches. Therefore, I am not considered an Indian because I don’t practice any value the old folks want. One does not merely escape from the Indian culture because they are born in another country though. It haunts you for the rest of your life. I’m talking about the expectations of being perfect,  successful, people-pleasing, and being someone they coerced you into being. People around me who immigrated from India will never let me be me. It creeps up on me for every decision I make, even if it was the best one for me. Aunties creeping up on me asking when I am getting married while I am suffering a mid-life crisis. Like Aunty Ji, I don’t want your son in my life. 

I love staying out late and partying. I love having friends that are of any gender and race. I love wearing different types of clothes and taking fashion risks. I love cursing about things (not at people). I love arguing with narrow-minded people. I love being accepted unconditionally. 

A lot of Indians around me disagree. Why? Cause I am a woman. And I am brown. Does this make any sense to you? I am not Indian enough to them, yet they feel the need to mold me into their version of being a traditional Indian girl. They steer me in a direction they want me to go so it’s beneficial for them. They want to continue a legacy of destroying women and their independence while uplifting the toxic aspects that abolish a person’s mental health. 

And of course, I have to fuckin’ hear about how I am wrong and how I am badly influencing other women for leading a life of what a man is allowed to lead freely. Who tells me this on a daily? You guessed it! Aunties. 

They really need to ask themselves this question: how Indian is Ria? 

Answer: white-washed with a hint of Haldi (turmeric). I need a t-shirt with this statement on it. I’d be rocking it to a sangeet every time. 

If I am not going to be considered an Indian, I will take being whitewashed then being conformed into someone I am not. If I am forced, I will retaliate by making sure rotis are not round and ensuring I argue with every single Indian I meet, including an elder. 

Best,

Ria

letter 3

Ah family – the word that has so much value to a person that they would actually die for. Me? Hell no. It’s just a word to me. I experienced and adapted to the mentality that water is thicker than blood because of my family. I’ve never felt proud to be a ‘Sharma.’ 

Quite frankly, I am surprised that I am still living considering what a disgrace I am to my family. Apparently, everything I do or say is wrong. When you google failure, you’ll find my picture and other relevant information. You see, I am the epitome of a disgrace in the eyes of those who uphold the unrealistic values of the Indian culture. The biggest perpetrator of these expectations? My mother. She believes because I am not leading a career path that she wanted, I have failed in life. Why the fuck would I want to be a lawyer, doctor, or engineer when I have no fuckin’ passion for it? 

My birth was the beginning of being ostracized from the Indian community. It was clear I was not one of them. Simply put, because I was born in Canada, which is the western culture. This basically signals the idea that I am not one of them. Two people who became parents should have never been parents. You know how you need a license to drive, why not obtain a license to become a parent? Why the fuck is it so hard and expensive to adopt a kid but okay to create a kid full-well knowing how incapable your dumbass is? Because you physically can have kids, that makes you qualified to raise them? Pft, okay. The government is so backward. 

Some say you should honor and respect your parents no matter what. They are always right. They know what’s best for you. They will be there for you when no one else will be. Lies. Why don’t they take the time to listen to a child’s feelings without judgment? Why are they defensive when you point out the fuckin’ truth about them? Why do they point out every negative thing about you? Why? My parents do not have answers to any of these questions. They just always must be right. To feed their big-ass ego really. When I even attempted to tell them how their actions and words were the root problem, they took out their frustrations on me and expected there wouldn’t be any repercussions later down the road. Like, come on. My anger and behaviour as a child were the result of these two and what I observed. I was a sponge, so I absorbed the bad and the ugly. 

I always got hit with the you only think of your side, you don’t think of mine when I am defending myself from my parents’ ignorance. My thing was why didn’t they think of my side? If they did, I wouldn’t be fighting for my life every single day. They didn’t want to open their narrow-minded thought process to listen. They were never right regarding anything in my life. They fucked me over. Another common statement I would hear: How do you think I feel? What about my feelings? I sacrificed so much for you. You are a bad daughter. Shame on you. I didn’t ask to be born. 

When I did defend myself, and I was correct, my mom would say, you think you are so smart. This was to avoid staining her ego and acknowledging her faults. She didn’t like that I talked back but the funniest part was she saw no problem in talking back when people would attack her. I was just mirroring her actions as a child. I never once said I was smart – I was just stating my rebuttal. To her, I was being a smart aleck and she hated that so she would tear me down in other ways. You know, by destroying my mental health and life with little chance of retrieving any sort of happiness and psychological freedom. 

Because of these things I would hear, I still live with a lot of guilt that wasn’t mine, to begin with. It was instilled in me to always feel bad and consider other people’s toxicity before my health. 

I hate my parents. 

Best,

Ria

letter 4

Let’s take it back to good ole ‘98, the year my sexy ass was brought into this world. Pre-birth was the only competition I’ve ever won in my life. When the sperm caught up to the egg, I was