Love of a mask

A conversation between strangers

After the classes had started I found myself tense throughout the entire lecture. I am normally not a person who is very self-aware of the feelings he's going through, but I was able to tell so because today I was unable to find it in me to get an idea to doodle about in my science book.

Usually doodling comes as a natural to me. I would never run out of ideas. But this time, I felt drained of ideas.

I also found myself gritting my teeth every now and then but this time I was more than aware as to why this was happening. It was because of the cringeworthy, humiliating pickup line I had dropped at our new classmate as part of my plan.

Even if my plan were to succeed I doubt that I would ever be able to let go of that particular traumatizing memory.

I let out a sigh and sneakily took out my novel and placed it discreetly over my science book to read it while hiding it from the teacher. Even if he did find it, I have a feeling I would get it back as today was my special day–my birthday.

I was about to distract myself from the burden of reality through the medium of a compelling story when a piece of paper crushed into a ball bounced onto my desk atop the page that I was reading. I sighed knowing damn well what this was and opened it making sure to hide my hands from the teacher.

"Dude, what the fuck was that about?!" The page read.

I begrudgingly, as slowly as possible tore a piece of paper from the back of my science book and wrote down my response before throwing the paper at his desk once the teacher turned his back to us to write something on the blackboard.

"What was what?" I had written, acting innocent.

And so we indulged in a boring and risky conversation in the middle of the class through papers thrown at each other.

"You know what I mean! That so very romantic pickup line you dropped on that poor little classmate of ours," He wrote.

"It's part of the plan, trust me," I replied, choosing my words carefully so as to not reveal too much.

"Oh god, I don't know if I like where this is going. Also, since when were you able to come up with pickup lines?! Don't tell me you were a playboy and hiding your reality from us all along!" He said, receiving a side glare from me.

"Fuck off."

"Looks like I touched a nerve. Well anyways, what's next?" He asked.

That was a valid question that brought me to think as well. What was next?

I had thought of a basic plan to go about manipulating her into getting close to me. And I had a positive feeling that the plan would work, so that was not the next that I was worried about.

It was what came after.

If I do indeed manage to get her to date me, what would I do next?

Would I show her basic love through superficial acts and then dump her a month or two later leaving her heart broken while I feel nothing and continue about my mundane life with the people around me having a slightly worse opinion about me?

But all this thinking also makes me curious, why is it I'm even doing this anyway? Was it because of that simple talk with Shubham that made me accept a challenge that wasn't even given to me?

Was it to make the ones who envy me or have a low opinion of me jealous?

No, that wasn't it...

I searched deep within me for an answer. Expecting that maybe there was a part of me that just wanted to have a girlfriend who loved me and I loved her back, but I couldn't find such an answer.

Why?

Because I had become aware long before that a person like me was a person who was not capable of loving someone, nor was I worthy of being loved by someone.

God, I'm only 17, I thought feeling drained of energy.

Sometimes I wonder just what event in my life was it that made me the way I was. I do feel not the slightest attachment toward anyone whether it be my friends, family, or anyone in general.

But I know I'm not special, many people my age feel the same way I do. It is probably because at our age we're newly self-aware about this world and the people around us, so that leaves us confused, and that confusion leads us to isolate ourselves into the mentality of either standing out from the crowd, or blending in with the crowd, or not being part of the crowd.

All three of these ways are something we choose as a way to escape from this confusion and by the time our mind is cleared of the fog of self-awareness, it's already too late as we've already made so many mistakes we regret, saying so many things we want to take back, done so much we wish could be undone, hurt others and ourselves so much that the scars are now holding us back.

That's why, I always stand by the quote said by none other than me:

"Self-awareness is a bitch!"

But I was getting off topic so I quickly started thinking on the subject again.

So, why was it I wanted to do what I was doing? Being as honest as I possibly could, It was to impress.

To leave an impression. On my friends, my classmates, the people around me. On everyone.

Yes, that's exactly it.

I wanted to be the one that stood out from the crowd. So far I have lived my life as one who blends in with the crowd. But by standing out, I can slowly push myself away from that category, it will give me a chance. A chance to run away, a chance to start anew. A chance, at my metamorphosis!

While I was lost in thought another page bounced on my desk and I opened it quickly to not appear like I was zoning out.

"So...? What's next?" Shubham had written.

It would have felt so cold and cool if I responded by writing metamorphosis but I doubt his stupid self would even know what that word means. So I simply wrote: "Wait and watch."

I looked at him as he read it and slowly watched a frown spread over his face. A frown that was although sad, felt warm. I felt jealous of Shubham because of his one trait.

How his presence always felt so welcoming. So welcoming in fact, even I couldn't escape being enchanted by his aura. And although I hate to admit it, his presence has played a significant role in shaping me into the person I am currently.

To some degree, I hated him.

TO BE CONTINUED 

Words: 1146