a culture of misfits

I’m a misfit.

I like labeling and identifying myself as a misfit. Maybe society would like to think differently. But I myself do not want to fit into the nice little categories that the world always seems to box me into. No, I refuse to be molded into any predefined conceptions that you have reserved for me.

I’m a misfit.

I don’t conform. I won’t confirm. I’m unique. In a category of one. Yes, there were times where I tried to play your silly little games. Try to become who you wanted me to be. Hey, I even got a Ph. D. because of that. The world richly rewards those who conforms to its ways. If I had written my dissertation the way I truly wished to, there’d be no way that I’d have donned the cap and gown on that graduation day. I strained hard to squeeze through those little holes that you set up for me to pass through. I finally did and I guess I have a doctoral degree to show for that. But,

I’m a misfit.

In this space that I created on Medium, my alter ego is free to roam. I have not many eyes to reach in and pry at my innermost thoughts. I’ve a fake name and I use a stick figure for my profile photo. Am I afraid to show the world that indeed I’m a misfit? Yes, I am. I’ll be honest with you. I have a family to support and that means to a certain extent, I have to fit in. I have to play the part. I have to nod in agreement to certain aspects of life that grinds against my soul. Am I the only one doing so?

I’m a misfit.

And why not? Life is not a one-size-fits-all. We are born individuals, with characteristics and traits that are irreplaceable and unique. In some sense, I’d venture as far as to say that we’re all misfits. It’s a matter of whether we acknowledge it or not. After all, why do we force ourselves to live to the tune of others? Yes, even as I’m writing this, I feel like a hypocrite. Because I haven’t been able to break completely out of the invisible shackles that constrain me to the position I’ve taken in this society. My words, as I give form to them, I realize, can be construed and be used as a weapon against me. Don’t get me wrong. I’m satisfied with life to a certain extent. Still,

I’m a misfit.

I was born a misfit and will die a misfit. And I’m rather proud to freely acknowledge that I’m a misfit. Even if this is my alter ego speaking and none in my real world can see the contents of this writing, still it satisfies my soul that I can say loud and clear, I’m a misfit. To all those out there, who feel like you’re a misfit and as though there is not a place where you can belong here in this world, I want to say, it’s okay. We all have our imperfections. We all have our shortcomings. And we all are, in one sense or another, a misfit. So don’t be afraid to be different. To be unique. To stick out. To create a world and atmosphere of misfits. We need each other, you and I, to tell one another that it’s okay to continue as misfits. Because even if I’m a misfit, I can still belong. I can belong in a world of other misfits, accepting each other just as we are.

I’m a misfit.

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