As I sit in bed listening to the fictional tick of a clock that reads half-past-twelve, I consider my reality. I think about the thoughts typically encountered at this, truth-be-told, 2 am. See, it’s easy enough to invent tales that deliver a more melodic tempo through utterance, than to write the story that is most sincere.
When all is said and done, the day boils down to a montage of memorable moments: good, bad, sad, and significant. The thoughts that have stuck with me today pertain to my current sociality. Perhaps a selfish set of thoughts to keep, but the truth nevertheless.
Specifically, I am reminded of the enigmatic nature of all humans, and the one-sided selves we put forth to others. Is it that we don’t reveal our complexities, or that others choose not to see? Moreover, should we hide segments of ourselves, then what are we hesitant to make available and why is it these pieces that we choose to obscure?
The open nature I have presented since my first day here has attracted a range of people and personalities to my being. I’ve been blessed to encounter so many disparate souls. The incomparable nature of these connections grounds me in the reminder that there is so much diversity on earth, and with that, there are so many people of whose company to enjoy.
Still, conflict remains a barrier in this unhinged dam of relations. When I hear others’ perceptions of me, it causes confusion as my own self-image begins to blur beneath the barrage of imposed perspectives. Maybe I think too much, still, maybe there’s a reason others question my intelligence when I have provided no reason for such doubt to occur. Sociable is not antithetical to smart, yet my unguarded nature seems to attract the impression that I am not a clever girl.
So shall I sit with my nose in a book all day? Behave more reserved on the dancefloor? Neither of these ideas are appealing to me, but again, I am the only one truly concerned.
End of, people will portray their perceptions. This does not make them true. I know who I am, at least I believe I do, and that should be enough to cement the thinly spread glue sitting between “I am” and “I am not”. At worst, I see myself through a mirage of individuality and lucid conception.