One time one of the high school students in my school borrowed my phone for picture taking. I obliviously and apathetically gave it to him, knowing he’s fully capable of not dropping it and honestly, there’s nothing to hide so I don’t see the problem.
A few minutes later, he handed it back to me and said, “Ma’am your phone is boring. You’re such a boring person.”
Normally any teacher would have been appalled, started giving him demerits and detention for such language. But I didn’t because one, there really is nothing to see and two, he’s partially right. I even said, with an understanding nod, “I know right?”.
Were it not for the fact that I write, I might be the most boring person in the world to people. At first glance I look like a prude, with my staying and possibly permanent bitch face. First impressions of me are always met with words such as maldita, or masungit or basically someone who always has a bad day and is ready to ruin your life if you so much as breathe in my face. Just for the record, those moments are possible but very rare, mostly during my PMS. Okay, they’re cyclical. It’s pretty common.
But people I know come to have a big shock when they get to know me more. Granted, it takes me a while, and you will have to endure countless conversations of me running out of things to say, which to some may convey as me trying to terminate it. It’s not really you, it’s me. I have a numerous list of excuses not to talk to anyone, but if I just simply ran out, then it’s possible I just don’t know what to say next but want to keep it going regardless. My friends get a double whammy when my wild side comes out, that in which is mostly and honestly for façade because sorry, I’m not really a thrilling person but perhaps for you I will because you are my friend and I value our friendship, even if it means I become oddly uncharacteristic of my true self.
I’ve often changed my way of introducing to people, leaving on a smile and starting conversations myself, mostly to those who are my delegates. To me, it’s a portrayal of my leadership. No one likes a quiet, bossy leader. You need to interact and socialize so your favours do not turn out to be commands. People would rather work as a colleague, not a slave.
So then my delegates would think of me as someone who is optimistic, determined and expressive- which I hope are all positive. It seems to work, I still find them thinking I’m such a brilliant person. It feels nice to be needed.
With all that is said, the begging question is this- what am I really? I’ve got numerous personality tests telling and explaining who I am, mostly fluctuating into different degrees. I’m sure Google is a valuable source, but no one can really entirely believe what it says like it’s a universal truth. Even horoscopes has got me thinking it’s a total lie. I’m a Pisces, and everyone thinks that since I am, I’m nice. I am nice, but I can not be, and they seem to think I can’t.
Why are we so lost about ourselves that we have to depend on tests and predictions to figure out who we are? Why can’t we just simply be, without further explanation?
The answer, and this is just me being a pompous pretentious know-it-all, is that we think what we are must mold to what the world dictates. We have to be normal. And sometimes normal becomes what is not normal. Everyone wants to be a special snowflake when in reality according to science, not one snowflake looks the same as the other. Statistically, there are 7 people out there who share the same features as you are, so that’s another case in point. We want to be normal to belong, and then we don’t want to be normal to belong, depending on what the world feels like deeming right.
Someone needs to tell everybody that it is okay to be whatever you are. It’s okay not to like what everyone likes, and it’s also okay if you do. It’s okay to be normal, or not normal, or be in between. It’s okay to be weird or boring. Whatever it is that you prefer, it’s all okay. Because who you are is none of everyone else’s business anyway, and if they want to meddle, don’t let them. Or do.
The choice of accepting yourself all depends on you and you alone. You could be anyone you want to be, but you have to make sure it’s what makes you happy.
So bottom line?
Don’t ask me who I am, because frankly I don’t know. And I like it that way. It gives spice to my life. And maybe yours, if you’ll try to get to know me better.
Airah Writes 