Alone, yet not entirely.

-

A few years ago, you'd hardly recognise me standing in the middle of a group of friends, making them laugh hysterically, lively telling stories and listening actively to everybody. I considered myself social; I craved outings with my friends despite the fact I had minimal chances of going out with them and I would even cry at night when I would see my friends enjoying Thursday nights while I was at my desk, surrounded by books.

How did I turn into such an antisocial person who is extremely anxious when around people? I mean, I wouldn't be fretful around my intimate friends but still, I'm not that person I was before. I mean, even around the friends that I've been with for almost ten years, I feel so distant, so unworthy of their friendship. I always  envision myself as the lame, boring girl in the gang who has absolutely nothing to say just because she is afraid to say something you won't find amusing. I regard myself as disliked, or more precisely, least liked. It agitates me, and just stops me from being around everyone. I'm afraid of their judgement, and it's no wonder why I appear so quiet when you talk to me, for clearly, I believe the sentences structure in my mind wouldn't be accepted.

That's what I found out at college. At first, I thought I'd be attracted by those highly affiliated people who just create gangs in a snap of their fingers. But no, it wasn't really like that. I found myself surrounded by people who actually laughed at my ideas, I saw their eyes goggle up when I talked about my daily activities, my love for knowledge and my dearest dreams. I felt so unaccepted, so different and away from everyone else. I don't blame the others, they might be beautiful from the inside, but I cannot just be embraced by them; living their structured stereotypical lives, doing the things everyone else does, forsooth being indifferent.

However, my values conflict that, and I'm not highly adaptive with such mind wars. Some days I just force myself to stand with a couple of girls, saying eccentric words, paraphrasing soap operas and so forth. I then feel so uncomfortable, so detached, to the extent that I excuse myself for a walk in the sun, where I walk reading poetry instead.

I know it's all within me. I know the problem is my idealistic view of people. I feel so disappointed in myself somehow because thinking it over, the matter raises suspicions of me being too vain and stuck up. Am I? I hate the thought of ever considering myself as proud when being down to Earth and innocently humble just melts my heart with compassion and empathy towards everyone. Am I serving my ego the whole time by avoiding everyone just because they're not my type?

The worst thing is that, I'm craving human interaction these days. I haven't like wholeheartedly laughed in ages lest had those warm deep conversations with a loved one. I miss being accepted, loved and truly depended-upon. Maybe it's supposed to be this way. Maybe I'm supposed to have that spirit that strives to help everyone but never gets a share of that intimacy in return.. maybe I'm just incompatible. But I just miss people, and the loneliness that bestows upon me like an sheath of unmelting ice that shatters my skin, freezes my heart and greys the backgrounds of my eyes- while I'm in a room surrounded by hordes of people is such an eerie feeling. I never thought I'd be so alone despite the crowd with their roaring resonating laughter than never touches my soul.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

airplane healing pains.

-
Image
An airplane signifies so many unknowns, so many variables, with a constant ‘ me ’. An anxious fear surges from the pit of my stomach, always questioning whether I’ll ever be strong enough to deal with the discomfort of newness. My breaths are sharp here, in the transition, heading towards the side of practical realms. I’m scared of what is left to heal to embrace my ideals. What if I’m not able to withstand the healing pains and sheddings? A few tears trickle by, summer stillness shedding, leaving me vulnerable and bare in the act itself. It’s endearing to witness and disconcerting to feel. Where will I be next summer? How would it be like to be a year older towards the person who has been gifted so many daylight dreams? I’m back to the solitude of my essence. The realisation that most of my journeying is done in darkness, pain and cycles— upon completion, they radiate a revealing light that serves and heals. But not before the transmutation, not before the healing, not before the ferv...
click to read

intentions of 2025: a foundational year.

-
Image
hello, 2025. I welcome you in my arms, receiving your brand new beginning where I can rewrite the story of my life path. here I am, a woman in so much need of something so terribly new so that I can forget everything about my past and start as someone new. yes, someone new. that is not a typo. there’s so much we need to change around here and I am onto it, make little baby steps as we slide into this year’s seasons. despite all that is there to change, I am grateful that the gift of visualising the year and crafting new intentions is not one of the things on my list. that could stay, along with creating vision boards for all of the beautiful dreams floating in the landscape of my heartful desires. I wish you could see my vision board. it involves a splash of watercolours, piano melodies, the dream of raising a kitten and starting my journey in gardening. also, a travelling spree to where there is a calling sea and perhaps, an umrah. my dreams are nascent, but their vibe are preparing m...
click to read

disappearing.

-
Image
what would happen if I disappeared for a few months, truly disappeared, and worked on internalising every beautiful, whimsical thought into my very being? what if after those few months I erupted like an everlasting blossom— glowing in peaceful reverence for life, withstanding the cruelty of paradoxes? what if I became seen, my body showing signs of a soul who has fallen in love with the humble ordinary, frolicking about the greenery with a sparkling smile that has forgotten what it’s like to fade? that is what I pray for. I pray to heal my body and heart that I truly forget what it was like to be in such pain. alas, it is earth, not heaven. still, I never cease to believe that heaven can be created on earth. I know that we as humans can transcend all futile suffering into an equanimous acceptance. my body holds so much pressure, fear and difficult memories, even if I don’t remember much of it in my mind. my body hurts, and I feel like I’m carrying mountains of fears I once felt, cripp...
click to read

October's summits.

-
Image
 I am going to try and be seriously strict with my monthly reflections. I remember how years ago, this was one ritual that allowed me to feel grounded and centred, committed to growing every time-bound journey. I daresay that getting myself into the habit of being introspectively eager in witnessing my development would do wonders for the strength of my soul. October was quite challenging, honestly. September was much more fleeting and beautifully filled with milestones. I was tempted and put into trials a few times, which made me feel undeniably exhausted to get back on track. yet reflections such as those sprout gratitude in me, making me realise that there had been seedlings of intentions all along. autumnal wonders it is my first time ever to witness an autumn in Europe, which is heavenly. of course, the gloomy days are ever so dark and sombre, but they are also lovely in their way of making me rejoice in glory the moment the sun comes up and reveals the stark beauty of all tho...
click to read

forget-me-nots

-
Image
rare as forget-me-nots, found basking in the mellow light by creeks and solemn meadows, undiscovered, untempted to be of anything, of anywhere. still, they murmur a memory. the forget-me-not seeds I kept in my purse for years. their home was a garden where blackbirds and hoopoes dwelled— it was but a sacred dream. the dandelions whimper of all the wishes they keep secretly until a landing on golden grounds is sealed.   they’re wisps wrapped in silky touches of spring-air.   they talk to me. they’re not gone. poems.. songs. my broken sounds ‘neath apple boughs and midst a flower bed so serene. but I’ve let all my birds go never seeking their distant return. I’ve let them go as I let an old love die, taking me along with it. but they’re here now. my birds. my forget-me-nots, and sacred dreams.
click to read