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It didn't take a genius for anyone to notice that not everyone liked me, or... that nobody liked me at all.
It was always obvious; You know, those stanky eyes they'd give me, or the side glares, or when they would lean into each other and whisper while pointing at my direction, and maybe a bit of laughter and giggles here and there. All the children did it to me and even the adults-Mark's parents.
It was always because I either expressed my enthusiasm and excitement about something, perhaps I was being dramatic and too much, or because of the way that I looked, my literal appearance, one thing I couldn't control because I was born with it.
I never understood why.
I didn't know what was so wrong about being expressive.
Was it really that wrong to show how much Christmas made me happy? Was it really wrong of me to show my abilities when it came to arts and crafts? Or was that too much of a show-off? Why did I have these abilities in the first place, if I wasn't allowed to share them? Or was it also that bad to merely show some appreciation to a friend? Well, I'd like to believe Mark was my friend. (My soon to be boyfriend maybe. I mean he was my first kiss after all right?). So who wouldn't be happy for having a friend?
And my appearance... I didn't really think I was that funny looking. And I didn't think I look like a boy.
I always admired my mother's short curly hair! I think I rock this hairstyle, and not only does it look pretty, but it was comfortable to not have strands of hair always covering my face. But apparently, the others didn't find it the most appealing. I never understood why my hair bothered people a lot. They would tell me to grow it so I'd look more like a girl, but I liked it short.
I talked about it to my mother. I told her that some had called me ugly looking little boy. She cried about it, but subtly, but it was obvious it made her upset. I didn't think much of it though. I didn't think it was an insult that I looked like a boy, because Mark's a boy, and he looked lovely!
But apparently, my mother said otherwise. And she told me that I was the prettiest person she'd ever seen in her entire life, and that I should never listen to other people because looking like one's mother was the best thing in the world. And I agreed, I did look like my mother, and she was indeed pretty and that meant that we were both pretty.
Then I told my father about how the entire world seemed to make me feel like an alien, and he wasn't so happy about that either. He would pull me in a hug and tell me that I was perfect the way I am, and that I shouldn't feel like I had to change for others.
And no matter how difficult it could be to ignore this hatred and judgment I see from people, it was always easier to do so whenever I thought of my parents' words. I trusted them.
One person who never truly showed me to scram off... was Mark Lee.
Well, I mean, he never told me to scram off. I knew that he didn't really like my presence, and that he actually wanted me to scram off... but he let me stay, all the time. I did feel bad about forcing my presence, but I really did like spending time with Mark and it was nice to have somebody to be with for once in my life. I admired the fact that he let me just be there, maybe he pitied me or maybe he did actually like spending time with me.
