I have pissed more people off in my attempts to please them than I have when I was in fact trying to tell them to go screw themselves. Are my pretend-pleasing efforts that transparent? Or are some of us inherently incapable of licking another person’s ass? My father tells me I should be sensible about it, learn to be diplomatic. He speaks from an element I cannot compete with: experience. He tells me I can cut people off when I make something of my life. I could meet anyone, in any part of the world, which I believe. Over the past few months, he has asked me to calm down way too many times. Is coming to terms with the world equivalent to an omnipresent, lurking disappointment about reality? A Stanford talk explained how the world is too small, ‘don’t burn bridges’. My grandmother tells me to eat lesser meat, she believes it would help me bring down my ‘garmi’, or heat (she’s adorable that way). But how much is too much? Where do you draw a line? If a person is in a position of power, and could help me but also happens to be a lunatic I refuse to tolerate, would I regret not accommodating his lunacy for my own good? Or would I remain unaffected for I never expected him to be of any assistance to me in any possible way?
I always had an interesting passion for rage. Positive rage. But I’d never been much of a talker, and had no reason for expression. And then I got hit and burned. Like everyone else around me. I’m still not much of a talker, but I’m learning to pretend to be one pretty well. I belong to the lowermost strata of the communication class, the underdogs: the listeners. But when I found my voice, I found it to be a very blunt one. I found it choking in a room full of false greetings and fake smiles. I finally have reason for expression. The girl who never talked is really just a bundle of angry. But what we once were was perfect for where we once were. We have grown, we have been broken, we have been run over, we have had our hearts broken, and we have been delivered personally by change. We might as well be someone else. I have lived with two separate groups of people in the same place. People, who politely insulted each other, people who had undertones of bitterness in their sweet hellos, people who were cowards to say what they actually felt in front of each other, but spent all their energy in informing me how the others were scum. They were lions in a cage, and nothing else. Relationships are precarious anyway, why make them more complicated? There is no loyalty, there is no support. So what are you building them on? Has self-interest blinded you to the point that you’re numb to self-respect? I think we all have a right to say when we’re hurt, a right to tell someone they’re a piece of shit when well, err, they are. Maybe I’m just digging my own grave with a view like this one, or maybe I’ll learn to mold myself for the sake of my own survival. But I’m still alive and breathing, pissing people off on an everyday basis, finding and building me from scratch, absorbing the good, filtering the bullshit, sparking arguments and taking risks. Every single day. We are not a product of another person’s vision of us, but instead, of our deepest desires, biggest dreams and shitty circumstances. We are who we are not because of what is given to us, but because of what is taken from us. And sometimes, we’re left with a sharp tongue, an overworked brain, too much to say and no room for fake laughter. And you will burn bridges, but guess what, there’s nothing wrong with that. Take that Stanford.
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