Who are you, really?
Did that thought, that question, ever cross your mind?
I’ve found myself, many times, going over the past; yeah, that twisted journey all of us are required to take every once in a while. I didn’t know who exactly I was back then. All I remember is having an idea of who I wanted to be —an already finished work of art, a destination, without a route to get there by. Not bad, but little did I know back then!
Turns out, it wasn’t easy. And it wasn’t exactly how I pictured it either. It got to be even better.
I listened to people around me express their opinions about what they thought was right. And if you’re the good girl, you should always listen to them and do as you’re told.
Well, I’m the bad one. Sorry. Not sorry.
It never seemed fair to me. One moment you were told to be an independent thinker; the next one you’re fed up to your stomach with the words “should” and “must”. Could this get any worse? Turns out, it can; if you let it.
My wit wouldn’t let me be quiet, I wouldn’t shut up. My thoughts, always complex in their nature, instructed me to question everything that I’d possibly be told. I was offered a ready, freshly cut, picture of myself, tailored in their preferences.
“But this isn’t what I want to be. I want to find myself, by myself. I want to learn the lessons on my own. I aspire to be me.”
“You always have to be such a pain in the ass, don’t you?”
Yeah, I probably am. I am most likely the ultimate pain for all of those who want to have everyone and everything stuffed into a convenietly labelled box. No allowance for coloring outside the lines, no freedom to go out there alone, no room for inspiration or self development. As long as you hold their hand, you’re fine. The work is done and completed — you are a whole person just like that. They’re telling you what to do, after all; if you just listen, you’re fine. And I knew — unless you define yourself, others will do it for you.
Unless you grab that goddamned wheel of you, for yourself, by yourself, you’re doomed — pretty much liable to always do what others tell you and be what they think about you.
They say you’re ugly and you believe them.
They say you can’t do it and you get the impression that you really can’t. You have no voice, no output; just input, already made up from others.
Sorry. Not sorry.
I always wanted to choose my own input and output. I always wanted to do my work, and I always wanted to find my voice. My voice, my message to the world. The area is damn restricted in readily made-up boxes and input. I don’t have the time to be someone I’m not – I won’t be afraid to disappoint, I never was.
Once I aspired to be me, fully clueless of what lied ahead. It was better than I’ve ever imagined.
Sorry. Not sorry; again.
I “apologize” for not wanting to fit myself into their boxes. For not obeying the rules, the musts, the dos and don’ts. For not actually hearing anything readily said and presented.
I wanted to speak my mind, not anyone else’s. I wanted a voice that was mine too, saying the things that I had in my own head. I wanted to define me, for me.
Once you let others do it, you become who they want you to be. And that person you see in the mirror? They’ll get lost and say farewell from afar, until one day you won’t be able to find them anymore. I don’t want to sleep next to low self-esteem for the rest of my life—because that’s where it will end up one way or another.
A truly bewitched nightmare; one I wouldn’t allow myself to experience.
The journey still continues and the past gives me its lessons every single day. It’s been ferociously hard but I control my input. I control the wheel. I dictate who I am and what I will be.
Sorry. Not sorry.
I don’t have time to create excuses to fit into someone’s box.
Yeah. I’m the bad guy here.
I’ll fit in that little box for you.