Meliorism

Conformity

I know this sucks. Please don't hate me. - Kaj.

I.                    “It will be easy,” he says. I look at him and, for the first time in a long time, see that concerned smile on his face. The sun is starting to set now. It’s Friday—my favourite day of the week—and, as it is always on Fridays, all the trains and buses packed. We stand in the middle of the sidewalk. I keep telling him that we should move to the side to give way to people. But he says no, he says it is important that we are in the middle. I don’t argue. Arguing with him is futile.

II.                 I realize that she is uncomfortable around people. I know that she hates being the center of attention. So why doesn’t she hate what I do? Why doesn’t she hate how I always make her feel special and important and essential and needed? Then it hit me: She loves it. She loves me. Her love is not superficial. It’s the love that I’ve been waiting for all these years: It has the power to hurt me, but I know it’s never going to do that. I love her. The least I can do is to show her this.

III.               “You’re not alone,” he says. I raise my eyebrows at him. He says, “You know exactly what I mean, sweetie.” Yes, I do. I know exactly what he means. I always know exactly just what he means. I wish I could thrive in what he means, but I can’t do that. There are people stopping us. It’s always been people. People are problems.

IV.                The only thing I want her to know is that people aren’t problems. I want her to know that I am an example of people. “Do you look at me as a problem?” I ask her. She shakes her head no, at first gently, and then vehemently. “Then people aren’t problems.” I look at her in the eyes and try to tell her I’m being sincere, but all she does is smile at me. She sees my eyes, not what they’re trying to tell her.

V.                   “We should go now,” I say. “People are starting to get annoyed.” I look around and start to feel anxiety swell up in my chest. People are staring at us, at me. Their eyes are trying to tell us something entirely different. “What do you want me to do, sweetie?” he asks. “I want you to let me do what I want to do,” I reply. It comes from nowhere. I say what I feel. It surprises me when the words come out of my mouth, but what’s done cannot be undone. He looks at me in disbelief.

VI.                     I take her to the side now, away from the crowd. She starts to cry. She rests her head on my chest, and I feel her head, and I feel thankful and at the same time angry. “It’s okay, sweetie. I shouldn’t have forced you.” She stays silent for a while, and then she looks up at me, tears still in her eyes. “I know what you’re trying to do,” she replies, her voice vulnerable. “You’re trying to change me.”

VII.                “I don’t want to be changed,” I tell him. For a moment we just watch our surroundings and realize just how cruel the Universe really is. “I am this. If you don’t like me as I am, I’m sorry. But please understand that I can’t change myself.” He looks at me. No, he looks through me. He sees me now as I really am, I think. He’s starting to know.

VIII.                I am taken aback. I want to turn back time. I want to hit myself for doing what I just did. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m sorry,” I say. And that’s when I decide to stop trying. I am going to love her as she is, because that’s all I have. She again rests her head on my chest, and I stroke her hair. “I understand now,” I mutter. “I understand.” She doesn’t take her head off my chest. She softly asks, “What do you understand?” I kiss the top of her head, feeling the warmth of my lips against her hair. “That love isn’t about conformity.”