Like a Boss

Dare I lie about this?

I know I’m not the best person. It’s a cliché but every one of us had, in one way or another, thought of this one line. It’s one of those things that we’ve thought of in bed, huddled under our blankets, wishing for the throbbing behind our eyes to stop. We are the majority. But perhaps in every million, there will be one who might be quite mistaken about the assumption. But he/she will deny it for want to be part of the painstaking majority. We have to conform and that’s the way we produce individuality.

That’s probably the fault I have come to achieve over the years: that I cannot rise from the majority. I have become common and uninteresting; lackluster in so many ways. But perhaps the lack of glamour has unveiled the vile truth of the matter like paint and powder do after a run-through with water: that I was actually of no consequence. That I have forged myself only a grand illusion spanning years – a child of a child’s imaginings – which are no longer available to me.

The grandest illusion, however, has not yet begun to unravel.

I think I’m giving off the wrong notes about me.

In this address, in the tiny white textbox under the title bar, I write about everything and everything, even the thoughts in passing. Before I post them, I read and sift through the paragraphs. At times, I run through typos after the posting but I straighten them out when I’m not too lazy to do so. That’s the way I do it here: half-assed like I do it in real life.

So as I contrast the two roles I frequently indulge in, I’ve come to understand something. Not that it’s remarkable or anything but I’m just guessing that it might be a tad problematic. The main similarity between the virtual and the real me is that we frequently come off as something we are the total opposite of. I won’t elaborate any more than that as that would jeopardize my remaining lady secrets.

That is…if I had enough to be considered for any.

I’ve felt these clammy hands before.

Whenever I’m confronted with something I try so hard to hide/forget, my hands become cold together with my feet. This is followed with a racing heart and dilated pupils. Lastly, my face becomes stony. This is how I am when I’m caught off-guard by things that I don’t want to dig up and expose to the unsightly public.

When I think about it, there’re only two people I can tell anything without the fear of being judged or pressured. One of them would advice me with a calm, almost inaudible voice while the other would smirk at me and shrug. They will speculate and they will draw conclusions as they are too smart to be left with anything but the plain truth but they won’t get awkward about it.

One of them had been asked before about one of the things I won’t easily dislodge. The thing that got me was what he had said (which won’t be written here though you are free to speculate).

He’s right, of course. It’s either easy or hard for me to reveal something. I’m very black and white about it. When it’s easy, I will tell you everything but if it’s not, I will run away. I might even forget I know you. The worst is that I will deny your existence. Not that my judgment matters but if you want to pry into my life then my opinion of you should at least matter. I like being able to keep my secrets a secret.

At least respect my silence when it’s there…’cause it rarely is.

On a not so light note, I’m sensing stereotypical activity.

I often give off the impression that I’m too serious. What can I say – my face was just made so I have a permanent look of disinterest. Another thing is when we’re casually involved, I give off the impression that I have done the usual things in life like drinking, smoking or making out with girls. This just makes me smirk and swell inside. I really don’t know what doesn’t give me away.

Yes, I curse like there’s no tomorrow and laugh like my lunch depended on it and yes, I do know a couple of alcoholic beverages but the operative word ends with know.

No, I don’t get piss drunk because I don’t even drink. I can count all the times I’ve consumed alcohol using only one hand. I don’t smoke. I never tried it and I don’t plan to. Not only will my mom kill me if she finds out, it’s just something I don’t want to try. Lastly, though I do hang around guys and dress like a guy from time to time, it does not imply that I like what they like. I hate unique female body parts; parts that define them as female. Furthermore, I can’t be bothered with half of them.

Not that anyone I know would read this. If they did, they prolly know this already anyway.

I’m just tired of the stereotyping. I don’t like being talked about for things that I normally do and I don’t like being known for things I would not ever do…even at gun-point. Anyway, for some who have pestered me before, it can be because you don’t me know all too well or it can be because you doubt me (or you pretend to know me and doubt/judge me anyway).

For the few who don’t question me for being anything but what I am, that is the reason why I treasure you above most people.

Hey look, bargain books 😀

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About kyogakura
Bored 95% of the time.

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