I hate secrets, especially the way people ostracise me. If I say, “Talk to me,” they would bite their lower lip, indicating that they don’t trust me. We just do each other a favour, and that’s it.
It’s alright when people consider certain things private. If you can’t talk with me, I don’t see a point in friendship. Perhaps it’s a gender issue or just a waste of time.
I’m starting to get annoyed about the fact that women consider me a traitor. What did I do? I was honest? I’m more honest with you than you’ll ever be with yourself! I feel claustrophobic in your narrow minds. You’re too chicken to open up your heart, too chicken to reveal your emotions. Why should I don’t care if you lie to yourself? Don’t lie to me!
Who am I talking to, if not to a fictional female character I disapprove. It’s probably some ridiculous shit that Jane Austen came up with.
I admit a lot of things, yet nobody else does. Even if you listen carefully and say motivating words, you won’t share your feelings with me. I will always resent you for this. And you wonder why I think being with you is a waste of time.
I’m not talking to anyone.
Someone’s stalking me online, and someone’s stalking me at work. What’s next? That arsehole doesn’t know that my forgiveness would save his soul, but why would he care? Let’s assume I forgive him; he would only care about getting me back. Forgiveness itself doesn’t matter to him. He once said that I should pity him. What man is more pathetic? He wouldn’t care if I was happy because he would want to be the one to make me happy. That won’t happen. Have you ever encountered a person more selfish than that? If he has changed so much, then why doesn’t he make another girl happy? This would be a way for him to atone for what he did. Not that I care! If you have been selfish all your life, you will always be selfish. Nothing but your own needs and happiness count – this is the definition of selfishness. If you have changed, then you’re not supposed to prove yourself to anyone but yourself. You would start a new life and move on from the past. But there are people whose hearts are just way too rotten.
Talking about the past…an elder couple came into my work asking for a catalogue. I remembered them; they were Kathrin’s parents. Kathrin was my first friend at primary school. I don’t like talking about my past, but it’s a part of me, so I’ll be honest with you (hopefully, you will be too).
So Kathrin tried to make friends with me. I also wanted to make friends with her, but I didn’t know how because I didn’t talk in school. Do you have to talk if you want to be friends? Anyway, Kathrin tried several times to connect with me and eventually gave up. When she was close to ignoring me altogether, my teacher had asked her not to give up. Kathrin’s parents had said so too. They used to invite me over sometimes to do paintings or have dinner. At the end of the day, it was pointless. I wouldn’t speak to them or Kathrin. I knew that Kathrin was fed up with me too, and it made me feel that she’d never liked me in the first place.
So after all these years I suddenly saw her parents again. They entered the shop three times within two weeks, and I realized that they were regular customers. Well, so the first time, they asked for a catalogue. I knew they recognized me, but they didn’t say anything. The crippled mother had thrown a glance at my name tag, and she knew it was me. The second time we bumped into each other was when I was with my mother. I ignored them and pretended I didn’t know them. Then my mother realized that they looked familiar, and they greeted each other briefly. The third time I met them was in the shop again. And I told myself to be nice just this one time and said, “Hello.” That fucking old bitch said hello without looking at me, and her husband said nothing.
Is it hard to understand that I don’t want to talk to people from the past? People, who remind you of how you used to be? These people won’t ever forget you and who you were. And trust me, this is not a good thing. It certainly is no blessing either. I hate this place. It’s full of the past. But there’s just no escape. Not yet…
All those girls gave up on me. We never became friends. I don’t know what they wanted. I even tried to brag with those boy band posters on my wall, and it didn’t work. They got off my way. I never wanted them to leave; they just gave up too soon. I couldn’t help being who I was.
Do you get me? What I tell you is what you’d never tell me. And I resent you for this.
No, I’m not addressing any particular person.
