Finding Weirdo

If I were a product, I’d come with an  IKEA manual written in hieroglyphs in an alien language originating somewhere in Andromeda. I make no fucking sense.

It’s like I have to manually program everything my mind and body does. Whilst people automatically get up and just walk, I have to figure out what neurons connect to what part of the brain. Seriously.


OK, not seriously, but that’s how it feels. Ever since I can remember, what I’ve been told about the world made no sense. The world in and of itself made sense, but what people –  parents,teachers,adults,friends- described it as was fundamentally wrong. I didn’t know why, which is why I spent an awful amount of time ruminating and philosophizing. In daycare, I would rarely play with kids if the play didn’t make sense. Often times the caretakers had to talk to my parents about ‘my worrying detachment.’

And while I grew out of that extreme aloofness by somewhat learning the ropes of what the majority of people see as normalcy and expectations, it’s always a play. On days when I’m too tired or too overwhelmed, my eccentricity will make a show. Like yesterday night, I went to bed early at around 9 and my aunt and cousin had decided to make an impromptu visit to see me. Well, tough luck. I’m too tired. My aunt tried to shake me awake, and I woke up momentarily to greet her in my groggy state, but I refused to get up and go say hi to the others in the living room. I couldn’t go back to sleep after she left the room, so I lay awake in my bed hearing them laugh and scream ( read:talk) in the living room, with the occasional where’s Mulki? piercing through the chatter. Because I’m very sensitive to noise, I didn’t fall asleep until they had left.

So my weirdness boils down to defying societal expectations. Think about it: when someone is labelled weird, it’s because their actions or behaviour is out of the norm. Whilst A-B-C-D is expected, they go A-V-3^10. Weirddd

Conformity affords you protection from your own mind that can drive you to the brinks of madness with the countless tangents and alternatives and explanations it can conjure given the opportunity. And it affords you security because you know where you’re going, how you’re going there and what you’re going to do. So life’s fairly chill.

And me. I have to find a way to contact those aliens in Andromeda, get some sort of interpreter to teach me their language, come back here, figure out the hieroglyphs on the manual, and then put my life together.

On some days, going complete bonkers seems like a paid trip to the Caribbeans or something.

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