My hair must be cut. I’ve come to this conclusion, I’ve accepted it. But there are few things on this earth I hate more than the process of having my hair cut. Part of this, stems from how I am incredibly uncomfortable with people touching my head. This is due to a relatively serious head injury I suffered as a child, after which, I was never again comfortable with people touching my head. I also knocked a few memories permanently out of my head and probably killed a few brain cells, but hey, I can still count to cookie.
The other reason is because of how uncomfortable I am in barber shops. I may not be the most flamboyant boy, but I still stick out like a sore thumb in that place. Everytime the man cutting my hair asks me “So what sports do you like” to which I mumble. He’ll then ask me “Been in any fights lately?” I mean what even is that? So I mumble again and endure an awkward silence, surrounded by men who stare at me accusingly for showing up to a place where I clearly do not fit in and then adding further insult by not sharing stories about fights or football.
Yup that’s my life. I’m the paranoid boy that doesn’t like people touching his head.
Shadow of my Mind
Another shade of me lies in a complete opposite place to the party loving, colourful one, I wrote of earlier. This aspect of me exists in silence and shadows. When I allow myself to separate from the world and think, he comes into being. Only in solitary can he take hold, only when sound dies does he dare show his face. This shade of me is the thinker. This is the aspect that I would rather suppress and hide. He questions life, he get’s upset and most importantly he is boring. He also never smiles. He is not a social creature.
This shade of me is what exists when the optimism runs out. He sits in the shadows and stares shyly out at the light. He has no confidence in himself. He is riddled with insecurities.
I need him, as some aspect of my time must be given over to self-evaluation. But I do not enjoy his seriousness. I dislike the fact that he wont smile. I hate that all he cares for is the shadows he has left himself sitting in.
It has come to my attention that I am terrible at accepting compliments. This is ironic considering how often I give out to others for not accepting my compliments. There is no way to explain this without seeming vain, but I may as well be honest. This is a text conversation I recently had.
Him: You are utterly gorgeous.
Me: And you are subtle as a bag of hammers.
Him: I call you gorgeous and all you do is compliment on my lack of subtlety.
In retrospect this does make me look quite bad. Not only could I not receive a compliment but I didn’t return one either. I guess I’m more insecure then I actually realized I was. A part of me always thinks the person is lying for some sick and twisted reason when they compliment me. I suppose it could sometimes be seen as humbleness, but that’s not true. It’s insecurities plain and simple, it’s crazy and something I really need to work on.
I was made meet the children of my mam’s friend today while, she and her friend, reminisced about old times. I can’t begin to tell you how aprehensive I was about it. The whole thing reeked of a play date.
Me: Do I have to?
Mam: You’ll like them, they’re really down to earth.
Me: See, now you’re over selling it, which makes me nervous.
But I must admit they were truly lovely people. I almost feel bad for not wanting to meet them earlier. I’m just very wary of new people. You wouldn’t think it judging by how chatty I am when I meet someone new, but it’s all an act I can assure you. I can’t explain why but I always expect them to lash out at me either verbally or physically, silly I know.
So in summary, that’s why I was away from tumblr and the internet today. I was entertaining.
We are what we wear.
Before ever speaking to someone your mind will have made up an opinion on them based entirely on the clothes they wear. A man frequently wears suits, he must be stuck-up. A girl likes to wear jeans and a hoody, she must be a tom-boy. A guy wears pink, he has to be gay. A person wears stained clothes, they clearly have bad personal hygiene. Our world is based on first impressions and unfortunately, stereotypes. It is impossible to deny it, we are what we wear.
Think about a job interview, you wouldn’t show up in any old thing. No you would wear your best garments, you would dress to impress. Modern society values the clothes over the person that fills them, modern society judges the book by it’s cover.
This is especially true for teenagers. At the moment we are at an age where we strive to be unique, ironically in the hopes that we will fit in. How do we do this, through the clothes we wear. They allow us to express our desire to be unique within the confines of popular brand names.
Teenagers are also incredibly insecure. What we wear shouldn’t be who we are, but unfortunately we allow it to define us.