The irony is not lost on me…

Being an introvert, I don’t usually initiate a conversation with anybody. I prefer to stay in my own bubble of thoughts, even if they’re not good. I’m way comfortable in my own skin. I don’t care what people think of me personally, but I am forced to think that how people will think of my family. Everything my name could bear has been damaged by my father. I can’t afford it to deteriorate any further. So, its upon me to carry out the dignity of my name, at least till the time I’m living in Indore.

Because I’m ‘The girl who can do no wrong’, I’m forced to go to different occasions and events and what not. When I’m there, I find a quite place. Maybe at the back of the stage, the corner-most table or the balcony. There, I just sit and hope that no one will disturb me. Well, of course they do. Sometimes I hear people’s most intimate conversations, which I wish I could un-hear. Sometimes, i see someone crying, trying to maintain their composure, at least until the event is over. Sometimes, people just ramble on their own, leaving me disgusted by their gory details. The mot surprising thing is, that they don’t even see me sitting there. I mean seriously, you have to be blind to not see a person as gigantic as me. I’m seriously tall for my age and impossible not to notice.

And sometimes when people do see me, they sit next to me and then start sharing their feelings with me. When they start talking without any warning, I think, “Is it written on my face that I want to talk to you? Do I give the vibes that I’m slightest bit interested in whats going on with you?”

When I person is unloading their heart on front of me, I can’t say the above things. I can’t just stand up and leave. I can’t start talking about my own crap instead. I listen to them because in that moment I realize that I’m not alone. I put my pain aside and listen to the person because that person has had it in him since god-knows-how-long. They have had that thing eating them from inside and today, they’re finally getting the chance to let it all out. I listen because I’ve been where they’re at. For some bizarre reason, I understand them. I get each and everything they’re trying to say to me. I mean, yes, at times I do feel like shutting a girl up when she’s whining about a pair of shoes she couldn’t find in her size, but I let her talk because I don’t know what those shoes meant to her. Maybe they were symbolic in some ways she doesn’t even know. Maybe she’s just shallow, but I don’t know for sure, so I let her talk and I listen. While they’re talking, I envy them. If only I had someone I could talk to. If only I knew how to talk to strangers. If I had talked to someone before all this crap in my life started happening, then maybe I wouldn’t be so broken. Maybe I wouldn’t be a hundred shades of messed up. Maybe I’d be happier. I don’t talk about my feeling very often. I write them down or post them here. 

There are people who dare to share the most personal things with a stranger. Maybe because they feel like the stranger won’t judge them, and maybe they’ll never see each other again. In my case, that’s not true. I mostly see the people who share with me every day. Either they’re in my school or they live near me. And that’s fine with me. I don’t go and ask them again if the thing they were worried about is solved. It’ll just make them feel awkward. Instead, I just smile at them and let them know that their secret is safe with me.

It also gives a certain amount of pressure when they tell me that they’re doing something which they SHOULD NOT be doing. At that time, I’m in dilemma. Should I go tell their parents? Should I give them advice? Am I the right person to give the advice? I don’t say anything to them. I just listen, and I guess my silence tells them that they need hep. They need help beyond the kind which I can give them. They understand and then ask about my life. I smile in my head and say, “Nothing much to say, you know. My life is pretty boring.” They smile at me and they know that they’re not getting a word out of me. They don’t force me and I’m grateful for it.

The thought that I’m the reason they’re feeling better is the one thing that helps me sleep at night. I’m happy that they got this off their chest and now, they’re going to do whats best for them, and I had a part in it!

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2 thoughts on “The irony is not lost on me…

    1. Well, initially, that listening wasn’t intentional and quite frankly, it was annoying. But after a while, it felt good to be someone’s last resort.

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