In the past
Someone once told me that if you're not loved by the people, then you'll eventually disappear.
So naturally, I do my best not to disappear into oblivion. I laugh the way people expect me to. I hold the opinions the majority wants me to have. Heck, I even cry at the things everyone is supposed to sob at.
Does that sound like having no grit to you? I couldn't care less.
To some, I'm the perfect bystander, the agreeable one, the harmless one, and because of that, I'm loved.
The hallway of my school feels like a smile, like constant validation for my tireless attempts to fit in, to be the person everyone likes. But one question always sinks its teeth into the back of my mind:
Would they even spare me a glance if they knew the real me?
Seventeen year old Arin has been asking himself that same question every single day now.
The truth is, caring has never come naturally to me. People think I'm friendly, but it's all reflex, rehearsed reactions, practiced expressions. Inside, I'm quiet. Closed off. Reserved to a fault.
It's easier that way.
If I don't care,
I can't be hurt.
If I don't feel,
I can't disappear.
So I give them what they want:
the smile, the nod, the easy laugh.
And they call it charm.
They have no idea it's just survival.
All of this is beside the point, because I'm late for school.
The apartment I live in isn't the ideal home someone might dream of. Its interiors aren't lined with marble slabs or sofas that look expensive enough to punch a hole in someone's wallet . The rooms never felt as welcoming as they should, and opening the fridge was never an experience full of comfort or surprise. Just a dull, half empty space.
"Half empty, huh."
I've been pretty pessimistic lately. I should probably fix that while I'm out with my 'friends'.
This home had its faults, but it was still a place I identified with. My parents rarely showed their faces, late night shifts swallowed them whole.
To make up for the lack of company, I started talking to myself at a young age. Gotta say, it helps. Downside is, people assume you're instantly somewhere on the spectrum if they catch you doing it.
Anyway, if I don't run now, my homeroom teacher's going to be pissed.
I grabbed a slice of cold, stiff bread from the fridge and headed for school.
"I'll be off," I muttered, disgusted with the habit of announcing myself to no one.
I sometimes wonder why people associate good and evil with black and white. Is it a lack of imagination? Or some historical bias that hardened over centuries?
Honestly, I think all humans are messed up in the head. Even the people who formed these associations. We all hide something worse beneath the surface, and the people who hide it best are often praised as the kindest.
There are cooler ways to see it, too. Black and white for good and evil. Red and blue for fierceness and calm. Green for nature.
Colours have always shaped our everyday lives.
"Man… I wonder what colour happiness would be."
My walk to school usually consists of thoughts like this. Not that I'd call myself philosophical, I actually hate people who try too hard to sound like intellectuals. Even virtue can be a performance.
My high school looks like something ripped straight out of a romance anime, though if this were a show, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't even qualify as a background extra.
The walk to my class was filled with unnecessary stares and soft good mornings. I pulled a smile across my face and greeted friends and acquaintances alike.
This routine made me feel safe, safe within my boundaries, confined yet confident that I'd never be alone this way. Never hated.
"The kind and likable Arin."
That's who I'll be for the rest of high school.
I entered the classroom expecting it to be packed, considering how late I was. But only half the class was there.
"Half full, huh."
Well… this is certainly interesting.