Some Roles I Dislike

“Sooo...” he crumples the paper in his hands while looking down the stage. Now, glancing up at the ceiling through his glistening eyes, he puts the crumpled ball of paper in his pocket. It’s not that he doesn’t completely not care for that piece of paper; c’mon there’s some personal stuff on there, he can’t just throw it away, lest he wants someone to tease him about how crazily petty he is. Is he really though? Is it the society which makes him think that ranting about the roles, which pretty much everybody plays, is him being just a selfish little prick? Or is it actually true that he is the only creature, courageous enough to speak up about it? Well, at least in his mind.

“First of all…” he begins as he shifts his focus to the mic, “disclaimer alert: I’m going to use some pretty harsh language.”

He giggles to himself.

“Who am I kidding, I can’t swear for shit. Oops, except for this once. Er, let’s just see what rolls out shall we?”

He pats his right pant pocket, where he had previously put his prepared gibberish, and which clearly isn’t valid anymore. But hey, that very gibberish still gave him some essence of what he is about to utter.

“I think sociology sucks. It sucks real bad.”

Inhaling once, he goes on, “Now I know, there are quite a few of you who have taken sociology as a subject or even wish to pursue it career wise.” He exhales sharply, “But think about this. How have I so decidedly, created a firm negative opinion about so important a subject?”

He smiles sweetly, and for the first time he glances beyond the mic.

“I had taken it once, and really, I don’t remember a single theory so much as a paragraph.” His smile begins to fade. “Right about now I must be looking like a untrustable stupid person who just made a wrong choice in subject selection and is trying find someone or something to blame, rather than accusing my own puny will power to study.”

Now pressing his lips into a forced, tight smile, he speaks, “I might not know a lot about sociology, or for that matter, about anything, but I do remember how sociology talked about the different complex roles that everybody in this damned world plays.

Honestly, that might be the only part of the class I had payed attention to. So yeah, about the roles… I feel…overwhelmed, about playing so many roles, it’s just too frustrating. Is it really so important? Ugh I know it is, but can I for a moment, just, just take a breather?”

He finally feels the need to violently wipe the tears off his face which are about to run down his cheeks. Sniffling once, he utters, “I know that playing and trying and failing and then trying again to play the roles is what keeps the world going. It’s plain annoying. It’s plain annoying how we keep going through all the formality of not hurting each other, trying to maintain a balance in those roles.”

“Gosh…I sound so disconnected, sorry…sorry I myself need time to figure it out clearly.”

“It’s like none cares about who the heck I am. No matter how old or young the people in question maybe. They talk to me like I don’t try to be nice to them. They talk to me like they’re the only ones going through the pressures of life. They talk to me, like I don’t have frustrations of my own. They talk to me like they can give me attention, but only, that’s not true.”

Is this really about some standard dislike of a subject?

He takes a pause and continues again, “So basically, this isn’t an actual rant about how I disliked studying sociology. This was just a way of making me sound serious or fancy, I don’t really know which one it is. I’m just sick of rigidly following my script and perfectly masking my real selfish self. I mean, I’m only human, I’m allowed to be selfish, or at least disappointed once in a while. Wait…am I?”

“I mean, is it so bad to at least express a little disappointment which is mostly hidden, but is only displayed in small amounts just for the acknowledgement of it and not for making the other people feel guilty?”

Taking a look about the room, he brings his smile back. “Tell you what, I am sick of being guilty for being a slightly bad son, an annoying younger sibling and maybe a good for nothing older brother who knows only how to lecture. All these roles, they're...just too much for me.”

“I cannot exaggerate the amount of guilt I feel for being all those things to the most endearing people. Its, its unfathomable!”

He brings out the crumpled paper again and holds it dearly, “One might think that I’ve written down my speech in here, crisp and precise. Actually, in some sense, I have. But it’s in the form of poetry. A new way of protecting my personal space and in the process, improving my writing skills...”

“But it’s no use trying to keep such sad poetry in my dull pocket, mostly, because I’ve become courageous somehow. I know that I’ll surely regret disclosing the analysis of my piece.”

“My soul is a poet

Aware that nobody knew it,

Often I try to show it

But still none for my duet

[Note: Not a great start, come back to this stanza, bcuz it really needs some reconstruction.]

Afraid to defy

The lines of destiny,

I cannot deny

Freedom’s poverty

Tired and thirsty

I run home to comfort,

Protected yet angsty

Keep runnin’ out o’ effort

Nudging and failing

Fighting; yearning for affection,

My will is now ailing

From your lack of attention.”

“I know, it’s not perfect. It’s far from perfect. But its mine and it helps.”

“I am simply, just a little, tired.”

“All I ask for is a little patience and a teensy bit of respect.”

He bows and the empty seats of the school auditorium stare back at him. Though, he knew that none else would be there at this time of noon, he knew all too well that his best friend would spring out from his hiding place behind one of the seats and applaud for him while leaping and closing the distance between them. Correct he was, for then came the best friend and a toast he raised, “I love you and I respect you, as simple as that.”