Hello from the Inside

Rich, pretty, popular. Quiet, clumsy, outsider. The concept of permutation and combination is a myth.

I have been weird my whole life; happily trapped inside my kaleidoscopic world. The black box. I was the kid hiding behind the desk hoping no one would call out her name. I was the girl at the restaurant who didn’t know how to hold a wine glass. Is he trying to talk to me? Is it okay if I don’t talk back? Oh no, don’t walk away. Nevermind.

I took bedtime stories seriously. They were supposed to make you dream of open fields and unicorns; and so they did.  No, I didn’t want the pink frock. I wanted the grey tee with Harry and Buckbeak on it.  “Why can’t you read louder?” Because my reading voice drowns in my head. “Why won’t you stop shaking your legs?” Because I have restless leg syndrome. Because I was not meant to stay in one place, and I never am. I’m both here, and very far away.

All those kids laughing at me. They wouldn’t believe me when I said shooting stars exist. They do. I saw one. I made a wish. I wished for the noise to stop. I wrote. I wrote till the journal yawned, and the poems ended with a lullaby. I dreamt. I dreamt of a night sky filled with stars waiting to shine down.

I don’t want to go to the party. Why are you dragging me there? Why is the music so loud? Why is this drink messing my already messed-up mind? But, I studied for the test a week back. “Such a nerd!” I smiled. She thought that was an insult. Silly girl. I was Hermione with bad hair and brown skin.

Whoever invented fandom merchandise was a genius. My t-shirt has Sheldon claiming he’s not crazy. Ooooh. A cute guy. “Who’s that on your t-shirt?” Sigh. Goodbye, mister.

“Oh simple thing, where have you gone? I’m getting tired and I need something to rely on…” *cries* “What happened?” Music. Music happened.

Pyjamas, pasta, Midnight in Paris. Woody Allen is my spirit animal.

Let’s pause. Let’s rant.

I’m an introvert. I’m both friendly and awkward. I’m both sane and demented. I’ll either travel for 12 days straight or not get up from my bed for a week. I either love hard or hate vehemently. If you find me complicated, I won’t chain you down. If you tolerate my finickiness, I thank you. If you share my insanity, we’re probably best friends.

After 23 years of existence, I’ve realized that my eccentricity is inherited. I was born with the will to own it, and is something I’m going to proudly pass on to my kids. (Also, my daughter probably won’t get dinner if she’s not a fangirl and doesn’t know how to pronounce epitome. Just saying.)

Did I tell you soliloquies are a part of my daily calendar?

Gotta go now. Barry and Oliver are out saving Central City.

Till I write again,

Creative Insanity.