Everyone wanted to be unique not realizing that the idea itself is a cliche.
Am I unique? I don't know -- it depends on your perception. All I know is that as everyone tries to be their version of "unique", here I am, busy being my version of "normal". It's not because I don't care about what people might say but simply because I like "me" that way.
Most of the time, I'm branded as aberrant, peculiar, weird, or whichever term is the most conventional in their vocabulary, but that's my way of being normal. I prefer swimming in my own current, which is mostly against the whole river's flow than just floating with the majority's version of reality. People might say that I'm too proud of my ability to think-- perhaps, maybe. But they have their own thoughts and I have mine; I just chose to live my truth.
I like wearing my faces and people mistaken them for a mask. Yes, I don't have just one face. I have hundreds, maybe even thousands, in my pocket and I like wearing one after another or maybe combinations of them at the same time. But they're not masks. Because masks are borrowed faces. Mine are not. I crafted them from each emotion I felt, each experience I've been through, each curve my lips portrayed, and each drop my tears represented.
People delineate themselves as either an introvert or extrovert. I am what the dictionary wants to pertain as an ambivert. There are times when I preferred socializing with organic lifeforms and there are moments when I shut humanity out and have a quality time with my neurons or travel in the world in between the pages of paperbacks. My definition of adventure comes in many forms-- physically, that would be rollercoasters, big waves, or perhaps doorbells of unfamiliar residences then hiding away after a few rings; imaginatively, ask my canvases and papers, they are always my witnesses.
Of course, I have things, weird in every dictionary existed. I smell my socks before and after I use them-- don't ask why... it's already embarrassing enough to admit. I don't like real flowers; it makes me sad thinking that they lost their chance to live just so someone could woo me. Pets, I don't trust them, aside from the fact that I don't understand their language, it always feels like they're gonna bite me any second. I'm mesmerized by how sugar grains sacrifice themselves to sweeten my bitter coffee, that's why I always end up drinking a 50% sugar latte. Yet again, that's me being my version of normal.
People are thriving so hard to be unique not realizing that the definition they're dreaming of being is generic. There's nothing wrong with being unique. But remember, you don't have to change just to suffice the standards of other people's version of uniqueness.
Am I unique? It depends on your perception. But let me ask you instead. What is your version of "normal"?
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Reality Check
Non-FictionI write hoping that my words could somehow lighten your baggage. I know it's not that much but I also happened to prove that even a single gram of pain matters. Now, let me help you... Gram by gram. *** For the people with scattered thoughts and...
