My mom told me I would have to compromise eventually.
I am not a socially likeable person. I never was, I never will be. But the idea of me is indeed likeable, loveable even. Apparently it’s a package deal that comes with being a clean slate, a flowing river, a malleable dough if I may. It’s the curse of my existence, a curse I can just make peace with and compromise like my mother said or just keep fighting, losing parts of me until I finally succumb to the forlornness.
You see, people mistake my indifference to be a non-judgemetal space, my lack of vocabulary to be a quiet solace, my obsessions to be love, my fears to be acceptance, my laughters that are meant to drown out the voices in my head to be joy, my broken soul to be depth.
Maybe because accepting reality is unfathomable. The reality that I am neither a bed of roses nor that of thorns. Just a nothingness in between who’ll become what your heart desires. I am neither a friend nor a foe, just a pawn to be used to take your own stories further.
People do see me for who I am ultimately. But they will never accept it. They will just drift away naturally, without a thought. Because friendships might wither with time and space, enmity might disappear with heartfelt conversations but pawns are made to be used only when needed. Before and after, what relationship would you even have with one?
People do see me for who I am ultimately. Because I refuse to hide behind the stories created of me. I want to be heard for who I am. I want to be loved for I am. I want to be hated for who I am. I want to be accepted for who I am.
But this path of war is becoming lonelier by the second. The hurt unbearable. And I am scared that someday I will finally give in and compromise. Affirm the world’s ideas of me, actively deceive them, no more just not announcing the truth but actively lying. I am scared that someday, pain will become a choice I made and not just a curse I need to survive.