Sizing Me Up
Darn.
While others just stammer or fidget, I, on the other hand, did all of those plus cry.
It was overwhelming, to say the least. I was tired (thanks to the Plant Visits under the grueling heat of the sun), nervous and was nursing a splitting headache during The Interview. But it wasn't just that. I didn't know what to expect- what sort of questions they'd ask me. So when they hit the spot, well, I wasn't prepared for that.
Isn't it uncanny how people- mature, more experienced people- can actually see through you? Actually, they don't. Not right away, at least. And not completely. But they do know where to look. They know exactly where to poke, where to pry open a hole and expose that carefully hidden part of you. That part you painstakingly cover, patch by patch, layer by layer with a sheer cloth of Pretense. You see, I am hollow inside. No, i am empty inside. Sometimes, i even wonder: Am i transparent?
Alright, i concede. I don't know what I want. I don't know what I want to be. And i hate it when someone makes me feel like the lost kid that i am, aimless and without a sense of...self.
Don't patronize me. I feel so very small already.
(For the record, if you don't want to accept me in, then so be it. I know there is a good reason for that. But i don't want to blame me, either.)
While others just stammer or fidget, I, on the other hand, did all of those plus cry.
It was overwhelming, to say the least. I was tired (thanks to the Plant Visits under the grueling heat of the sun), nervous and was nursing a splitting headache during The Interview. But it wasn't just that. I didn't know what to expect- what sort of questions they'd ask me. So when they hit the spot, well, I wasn't prepared for that.
Isn't it uncanny how people- mature, more experienced people- can actually see through you? Actually, they don't. Not right away, at least. And not completely. But they do know where to look. They know exactly where to poke, where to pry open a hole and expose that carefully hidden part of you. That part you painstakingly cover, patch by patch, layer by layer with a sheer cloth of Pretense. You see, I am hollow inside. No, i am empty inside. Sometimes, i even wonder: Am i transparent?
Alright, i concede. I don't know what I want. I don't know what I want to be. And i hate it when someone makes me feel like the lost kid that i am, aimless and without a sense of...self.
Don't patronize me. I feel so very small already.
(For the record, if you don't want to accept me in, then so be it. I know there is a good reason for that. But i don't want to blame me, either.)