Okay, so obviously there are people we do and don't understand.
(this is just a weird rant about something that has happened to me a few times now)
There's a specific kind of person I don't understand, and that is the person who asked this question,
"Do you like me?" or "You don't seem like you like me very much." or any variations of that. It's a question that is also never asked in a serious way. (the way I am talking about, anyway) The person is always with another friend and just shouts the question across the hallway.
It always sets off a little warning signal in my brain and makes me uncomfortable. Often times I do not know this person well.
The first time I was asked this question I blanked on what to say. I sort of just nodded my head and shrugged my shoulders and walked to science class.
The most recent time I was asked this question, I actually formed words. I can't remember exactly what I said, but it was something along the lines of shyly muttering, "I don't know. I haven't talked to you a lot and I don't know you that well... I mean- you seem like a nice person, but I just don't know you well enough."
I am already going to say that I felt almost obligated to say this. This girl had been at our school less than three weeks, I hadn't spoken a word to her, I barley remembered her name yet, and she just shouted at me across a dinner table, asking me weather I liked her or not.
I'm not completely sure why I get asked this question. I guess I can come off as rather aloof to people who don't know me. I could have answered her question if I had, you know, had at least one conversation with her before.
I am also not sure why I feel this obligation to say this. I feel like most people would have just said yes. That would have been the polite thing to do right?
I just can't find it in myself to lie and say that I know something about my own feelings toward something when I really don't.
I'll just add "self truth" to the list of my weaknesses.
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Little Diary
RandomJust some of my nonsense. Some are stories about my life and, yet, some just stories. Some poems, some epiphanies, and who knows what else.