Friday, August 30, 2013
No Rest For The Wicked
It's a word that I have associated myself with for many years now. But of all words, why 'mean'? You see, I wasn't always like this. There was a time when I tried so hard to fit in. A time when I was nice to everyone around me so they'd like me so I would feel that I had a place in this cruel, cruel world.
But not everyone saw it that way. Even as a kid, I was outspoken. I would have no fear of expressing what was on my mind. I think it's because of that why others misunderstood my personality. Still, I tried to be nicer to people.
Mean, Evil, Mayabang, Arrogant, I have been called these and much more that I’ve lost count. I used to ask myself why. Why do they call me these words? Was I really like that? I knew that I was different. I wasn’t gifted with the same amount of patience or humility others have. Which is why when I dislike something, I would state it outright. I was foolish to think that people, at that time, were mature enough to understand na ganito talaga ako.
However, I was wrong. They took it against me. But I kept telling myself to be nice to them and one day they will realize that I am not the monster they've painted me to be.
The cycle kept repeating itself for a long time. One day I asked myself, what if they're right? What if I am evil? What if I’m really mean? That’s when it hit me. It could only be said so many times and coming from different people, there must have been some truth to it.
Eventually, I accepted the truth. I embraced the word.
I probably was if that’s what everyone says about me. Let everyone be agreed, I’m wicked through and through.
That was the last time I cared.
Embracing the word was a life-changing experience for me. For the first time, I felt free. It was liberating. Like drinking a cold glass of coke on a scorching summer afternoon. I no longer had the need to please anyone. I no longer had to give 2 shits about anything. I was free to be myself. But a part of me was terrified. Does this mean I would have to be alone?
Then the answer came to me. I met people who liked me just the way I am. Sarcasm and snark. I realized that not everyone was the same. That even if I was who I was, there were people who accepted me exactly for who I was. I had my answer and I was happy.
When people give me compliments or say that I’m a nice person, the first thing I think about is that they are being polite. For many years, everyone around me said I was evil and then one day someone says I’m nice? I find it hard to believe. I embraced the fact that I was mean, that now, it’s who I am. It’s who I see myself as. A mean person. Someone who could care less.
I don’t make the effort to be nice to people anymore. Over the years, I have taught myself that people will love me or hate me and they have the right to do so. But I will do whatever makes me happy. Besides, being nice takes a lot out of you. You always have to be on your best behavior. People expect a lot from you. You can’t lose your shit because you are perceived as the nice one.
Well I am free from all of that.
Being me may not always work to my advantage, but it doesn’t bother me. It’s a hit and miss. Some people understand me, some don’t. Oh well, c’est la vie!
“For the first time, I feel… WICKED!”
- Elphaba, Wicked: The Untold Story of the Witches of OZ.