I am not Silly

It's the last week of February. Nothing extraordinary to look forward to except that I'll be facing another challenge--taking comprehensive exam. This is my last battle of survival in the graduate school and hopefully God will grant my prayer. I don't want to undergo a terrible episode of retaking some of the subjects, it's too costly and tedious.

This month is just so stressful. I have to endure several misconceptions about myself but I tried not to be affected with animosities, as if nothings happened, as if everything is fine, but deep inside, I am bleeding, asking the same redundant question I kept murmuring for the past years "Oh God, what is it again!".

Everything messes up. But I have to keep telling myself that tomorrow is another day and it's not going to be like this for the rest of the year. I was just misunderstood. Was I? Or I was just too defensive, trying to rationalize dreary things only myself cared.

Yes, I am often misunderstood even to the very people I thought can understand the depth of my character. Am I speaking a different language? Or maybe I spoke strangely. But I have no reason to complain, people judged and treated us based on how they perceived us.

For so long, I am revolving around this very perplexing state where I have to pull up myself constantly because it felt like I am drowning. The situation made me so very anxious that I was regularly searching for something that could provide me with a fair answer. Eventually, I put myself in a maze of trouble of whether tolerating it or dismiss it as nonsense.

I unconsciously chose the former. Because of my stubborn belief that clinging to a special hope oftentimes spawns reward, I kept tolerating a sort of fantasy even though I saw signs of ambiguity along the way. I was so confident there's still magic behind those tinted uncertainties. This very baffling situation made me somehow very edgy and sometimes temperamental. But I don't want to go on like this forever.

I wanted clarity and this necessity to clear things up made me to swing like a hazy metronome, fidgeting where to put myself and searching for something to hold on without making myself appeared like a hopeless forsaken, rejected bitch.

And as vague as this situation is, I searched for a two-way "something" that would pacify my anxieties---something that would guarantee that my position is secure and something that would take me out from this state of fantasy. My instinct came to my defense by began creating vague scenes in my mind.

But the scenes I created were just part of my lethargy, part of my apprehensions. But my language could not be understood, misinterpreting it as too self-indulgence and silly.

One way or another, the rift sometimes serves as the acid test of rattling the truth. And that "something" fires the bullet of clearing things out that wrong assumptions would cost us a real trouble.

I am prickly, but I can be overtly sweet and caring. I am not pretty and attractive in any man's standard but I can be as thoughtful and accommodating as any girl in town. But I am quick to understand that this attitude and all the niceties are not sure assurances that I would be valued and be seen in a more romantic shade. To some degree, I am a failure again.