Observations
Spending a portion of your life in the background is nice… for the most part. The familiarity of being left alone when the rest of the world walked forth without me is something I keep coming back to. Being an observer in the corner of the room, at the back of the car, or in the middle of it all, as people chat the day away makes me feel all-knowing without having to pry. Having an innate intuition when it comes to the timing of my words is an essential skill not many possess.
But it is not always pleasant living this way.
The world operates through a network of optical fibers that forcibly strings us together. We are, by default, social by nature. That is simply how society and humans are built, and I cannot defy the foundations that are keeping this planet and its inhabitants afloat.
This is something I learned later in life when I had no choice but to make myself known in the eyes of the world. I dragged my feet across the carpeted floor, embarrassingly louder than I usually would. Was I trying to make a statement? Perhaps. Did it catch people’s attention? More than likely. Were they looking at me with interest or distaste? God knows.
Then, the next hurdle was an act more terrifying than the last.
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Speaking.
My ears were subjected to the soundwaves of my own voice, which were jagged from the minimal speaking I have done over the years. My eyes darted all over the place—staring anywhere but into the eyes of human judgement — as I hopped on the topic happening before they knew of my existence. My brain worked overtime, navigating through the conversation without a drop of knowledge of where I was supposed to land.
In the present day, I find myself being more open and louder without much thought. This newly developed trait eventually blossomed into me putting my heart on my sleeve for the world to see. (Not that I never cared about anything or anybody. I just had no idea how to show it without stumbling over my thoughts and words.)
Opening up to the world made me become one with it, which I never figured was possible when I spent most of my time outside of it.
A part of me is still highly conscious, however, and I doubt that will ever go away. A part of me is beginning to notice the bursts of energy that are sometimes unwanted, the amount of space I unknowingly occupy when I really should not be doing so, and how I started putting my emotions on display more often than I should. A part of me is starting to study my own movements on a daily basis. Every twitch, every shift, every involuntary reaction.
I try not to overthink it, I swear. This is the growth I wanted for myself after all. To be this candid is a good thing, considering today’s harsh climate.
But sometimes, I feel like a stranger to myself the same way I was to everybody else in the room that day.
