Why am I weird

I wasn’t wearing a suit at the ceremony

It’s supposed to be one of the happiest days of every 18 year old’s life, the day when high school ends. The day when the school building quite literally gives birth to a batch of new adults. We had gathered inside, waiting for our cue to run out cheering through the doors to our families and friends who had arrived to receive us and wish us good luck as our new lives were about to start. We were like one large skinny teen body, with all the accumulated energy and expectations of three years about to be set free with a roaring burst of champagne and hats in the air. We were all there.

It was the end of a week of partying, submitting the final schoolwork, and most importantly, selecting what to wear at this ceremony of an ended childhood. All the boys wore suits, of course. It’s the obvious choice when you want to express your emerging adult identity. The girls wore white dresses and high heels. A parade of beauty, never again to be hidden in hoodies and sneakers. Beasts and Cinderellas, we know these kinds of stories. The ones that stick.

I found myself in the restroom, glancing at myself in the mirror trying poses, angles, smiles and faces. I needed that confidence more now than before. I needed to make it look like a choice and not a last resort. Black jeans, my best shirt and an old brown jacket I had found at home.

I had tried to get a suit, I had gone further by train than anytime before until I ended up in neighborhoods that had never been anything to me other than names on maps, places where people were different. I had finally found the mall, that promised high quality suits at low prices. Although I knew deep down that my 50 dollars or so wouldn’t get me far, or even home, I wasn’t prepared to give up until I had tried everything.

It was more like the silent rebellion of a martyr against my mother who didn’t want to buy me a suit, than an actual attempt at finding one. Looking back at it, I suppose I gave up to easily trying to convince her. At the same time, I did see the logic in not spending money on a suit that wouldn’t fit after just a couple of years. But it wouldn’t do without it. I knew that all along, but yet there I was, wearing jeans, leaving the restroom with an uncomfortable smile.

Then it came, our cue. There was something ridiculous about hearing Kids by MGMT through the school’s PA-system, or adorable. I don’t know for sure, like seniors writing a rap song. Every class had chosen a favorite song to be played as their soundtrack when finally running out through the doors.

I look at photographs, and I see myself. The contrast against a mass in black suits. The odd bird, who never wanted to be different but was. Some people wear difference with pride, for me it felt like a punishment. It’s a lonely place now, returning to that day. Everyone moved on with their lives. But I can’t help it, I keep going there. I want to tell myself that I’m heading the wrong way. That something is about to go terribly wrong.

Decisions are made and not bought
But I thought this wouldn’t hurt a lot
I guess not

There it is, the beginning. From here I will write about my experiences as a person who consider myself weird. There will be fragments like these, that I write down as I try to understand the origins of my weirdness. I don’t write in my native language, as a way to gain perspective. By all means, it will be egocentric. But I won’t force anyone to read. Hopefully, someone who feels the same way will find something to relate to.

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