Thoughts

“Are you coming tonight?”

“Are you coming tonight?”

That question vibrated in my head. I could have just said, “no.” I should have denied. 

I would rather be at home-no, I would rather be in my room. Reading the latest episode of the series I’m currently obsessed with, finding out when the sequel of the sequel of that horror novel is coming out, learning to draw 3D or my all time favorite: staring into space with my earphones in on dangerous decibels, thinking up scenarios that could never happen. I’ll pick any of these activities anytime, anywhere but here I am, paying the price of my in-the-spur-of-the-moment agreement. The agreement to meet up with the others for the school reunion. I had been so excited then to hear about a few familiar people that I knew for sure would attend. It’s not because we’re good friends or were friends whose distance and schedules tore our relationship apart but because I’d been eager to see how everyone turned out. I shouldn’t have let my curiosity get the better of me. But then again...

The popular girl, where had her high school fame and beauty taken her? Was she scouted by a fashion or cosmetic agency to be their new face or was she just another one of the pretty faces on net? Had the shots the quaterback made landed him in a prestigious college for sports or had his secret love of flowers driven him to study what he was truly passionate about? That quiet girl in glasses whose name appeared in the register of every single book in the library- believe me, I checked- was she still ghostwriting or had she decided to accept her father’s proposal at his law firm? Had the love of water snatched the captain of the robotics team? Did the foreign exchange student later confess to his parents that he had no intention of ever going back? 

All these questions swarm around my head all unanswered. 

I doubted these people knew there was an additional one to the number of people who knew these things about them. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been one to concern myself with other people however, I’m very intelligent. A keen, investigative look tells you so much about a person. The way they walk, they dress, who and how they socialize, their friends, the way they carry themselves, how and what they eat, their choice of words and how they react to the environment around them. 

I’ve never been one for groups. I could participate in them although I would rather do it alone. There’s something in the way I knew exactly how to talk to myself: what, how, why, where and when things needed to be done. The funniest part is though I’d never formally introduced myself to anyone, people seemed to already know me. They knew who I was but they didn’t really know me. I was never the popular kid, or the one who craved for attention. The once in a blue moon center of attention was more than enough for me. 

I’m someone who fits in albeit standing out. I’ve always thought that there’s no stereotype to my kind of personality; Whenever I try to fit myself into a category and I can’t pick just one option because I can be any in any situation that demands it, I recite one of my favorite quotes: ‘To define, is to limit.’ I always thought that If I defined myself, it would limit me in too many ways. I would be unable to be daring and do things outside my comfort zone because by definition of who I am, I would be wrong.

Sports is something that always pumped energy through my veins, be it running, swimming or anything ball. Sports is not a quiet man’s game. However little your words, sports demand conversation. Luckily for me, I’m an excellent conversationalist. The art of speaking about something mundane- the weather for an example, is a skill that I had to learn throughly because it was a necessity. That way, I could have a conversation with someone and they would look forward to speaking with me again and if I have to cut the conversation short, it looks like I have somewhere really important to be. Honestly, I’m probably just running to the library to secure the last seat almost completely hidden in the corner. It’s the safest place to be for me (I can watch the whole environment from a distance and assess every body) until someone looks back, notices me and I smile/wave. The person mouths ‘why?’ or flicks their wrist to an open palm, the universal signal for ‘what/why/how’ and I shrug and they interpret that however they do. 

Being someone of a few words doesn’t mean one doesn’t enjoy talking. Open a conversation with me on something I’m truly passionate about, match my energy, don’t agree to everything I say, challenge me, listen and watch me defend my views for hours on end. The only catch is, I’ve probably judged you subconsciously and will be very careful of what I say, how much I say and the way I say it. Before a single sentence leaves my lips, I’ve churned it over repeatedly in my brain, and come up with a response for every possible foreseeable outcome. Before that, I’ve probably wondered whether you’re worth my words. I don’t fancy arguing. Everyone is a person of few words when the topic holds no water for them. 

I guess it’s because I’m always in one discussion or the other with myself that talking to others sometimes feels like a chore and we all have that one chore that we simply don’t like. Not because we can’t do it but because we would rather not. Sometimes, I feel like I share my body with a hundred other different souls (partly due to my attachment of any character I fancy). It’s almost like it’s a million conversations that are never forced or lack interest because it’s a war zone of words, choices, discussions all within myself. I always wondered what took place in the heads of others whose words never run dry. How do they think and speak at the same time? The most secret, most intimate thoughts of mine that make me me are things I will share with any other person until they prove themselves worthy of that side of me. 

“Do I really have to go? I’ll rather be alone.”