Huh? But I think it's true, and the opinion piece below explains it well...and even though the below isn't talking about Moebius Syndrome (it is referring more to reasons of gender and culture) still I think it applies to us. The author below says it is good that her daughter has the freedom to take a selfie; in some countries and in some cultures, women don't have that freedom. But her daughter does. She has choices. It's something to celebrate.
I think there's a similar point to make for those of us with Moebius. Yes, take a selfie--because you have the freedom to do so; and because you are beautiful, you are handsome, you smile with your heart and with your whole being, and that should be preserved! So be empowered. Know you're beautiful; take a selfie! Read on--the opinion piece below is an interesting one:
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My 9-year-old daughter pauses in the middle of our walk
together and asks for my iPhone. Then she requests I take a selfie with
her.
I start to dismiss her question and turn it into a
teaching lesson, as I usually do, encouraging her to pay attention to
her surroundings while pointing the iPhone toward the cerulean sky,
blazing sunset or a pink bougainvillea. But before I finish my sentence,
she places the phone in front of our faces and snaps the picture, her
full smile and my cautious half-grin spreading across the screen. I
scold her for disobeying my wishes, hoping my words will outweigh her
enthusiasm the next time she sinks into a self-indulgent moment.
The
selfie movement is controversial and I will admit: it makes me
uncomfortable. Celebrities tend to promote it, with books, Instagram
pics and of course, the famous line “Do You Wanna Take a Selfie?” which
birthed the eponymous song “#Selfie.” Other
people discourage the narcissistic concept of an image uploaded to
Facebook or Twitter with a rapt audience liking the posted picture. I
tend to fall in the latter category and have discouraged my daughter
from engaging in this practice.
But a few months ago my Facebook feed broadcasted Prime Minister of India Narendra Modi’s appeal to
parents to post selfies with their daughters to combat the inequality
between Indian girls and boys and to elevate the relevance of women in a
culture which tends to discount the value of a female. This call to
action is an important one for Indian women, daughters and mothers
across the world who suffer a multitude of injustices from gang rapes
and domestic violence to a higher rate of abortions of girls.
Before
Modi’s proclamation, I never contemplated the power of a random selfie
in my parenting and cultural experience. Afterward, I reflected on a
singular belief: geography is destiny and it impacts my experiences as a
daughter and as a mother.
My father, with $7 in his pocket, made
the choice to migrate to the United States almost 50 years ago from a
small village in India. Two years later my mother joined him. On a
September morning in 1973, I was born in a hospital in Texas. My
birthplace automatically guaranteed opportunities I most likely wouldn’t
have had if I’d been born in a village in India.
As my parents
tried to assimilate into the American culture, they emphasized the
importance of education and pursuit of confidence-building activities,
imploring me to interact with the world and engage with people inside
and outside of my culture.
I tried out for the tennis team, took
piano lessons and hung out at the mall with my friends – all very
American experiences. As a Texas teen, I didn’t grasp my immigrant
parents’ shaky leap into the melting pot. As a teen and woman, my
identity as a girl never resonated as an obstacle. After college, I
attended law school; my parents never squashed my pursuit of a career
deemed as something traditionally for males, or not appropriate for a
woman of Indian descent. The idea of limitations because of my sex and
culture rarely entered our discussions.
The same pulse will thrum
in my daughter’s childhood and foray into adulthood. She is born to
second-generation Indian parents in the United States whose upbringing
is entirely American. So it is unlikely she will feel the stigma young
girls face in India.
When I reevaluated my daughter’s need to
take a selfie under this lens, my opinion of her act altered from
thinking it was self-indulgent to realizing it was empowering. While
Modi requested parents to take selfies with their children to make a
political statement, my daughter took the initiative to take a snapshot
of both of us without giving it any thought, because this is simply part
of her cultural context.
My daughter’s selfie reflects a
narrative distinct from her counterpart living in a small city in the
middle of India. For my daughter, the selfie isn’t a beginning, but a
way of life. She is inundated with choices, from choosing the clothes
she wants to wear to deciding whether she wants to play with Legos or
color her nails bright blue.
As for the other girl with a
different geography, her parents may not own a smartphone or perhaps she
stays at home to take care of her younger siblings and as a result
isn’t allowed an education. Her upbringing is shaded by the need to care
for the communal, whereas my daughter’s experience is more about
furthering her individual ambitions.
So the next time my daughter asks me to be in the picture with her, I
will participate with a newfound enthusiasm. I’ve shifted my
perspective, because I realize a selfie is no longer just a selfie.
I’ve learned it forever represents freedom, for me, and for my daughter, too.
Rudri Bhatt Patel is an attorney turned writer and editor. She writes her personal musings on her blog, Being Rudri. She is working on a memoir which explores Hindu culture, grief and appreciating life’s ordinary graces. Connect with her on Twitter or Facebook.
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