People Pleaser.

The story of a young boy who just wanted to make friends.

I became more awkward and shy as a young teenager, scared of approaching people, mostly scared of the fact that I would be made fun of, bullied and not liked. In short, I was afraid of being rejected. Rejected by the world that had set standards on who they will look up to and who they will look down upon. People are scary. It is hard to please people.

As a kid I was energetic, I was ecstatic, I would not sit in one place. I would talk and talk and play and just be full of energy. We lived in a small town in Goa, where my school and home was near a beach, where everything was just a short walk or a scooter ride away. I would be as lovable as it would get. I used to love being with my classmates, my teachers, my parents, brother and kids in the neighborhood. And they used to love me. No expectations. No judgement. No snide remarks. No one cared of how you looked and whether you were fair or dark or what clothes you wore.

A funny thing it is childhood. It is when things are real and pure. You never know the layers and layers of fake filth that starts building over as you grow older. People are a lot more like others and a lot less like themselves. Children say what they mean and mean what they say. Adults teach them to hide their emotions. To “discipline” and “behave”. To bow to authority and to judge people.

Soon, my dad decided to move us from a small town into the big city, where he felt we would be closer to him, and we would learn a lot more. A new big city meant bigger classrooms, bigger neighborhoods and more friends and family to share a life with. The little child that I was was excited to move into my new home, and meet new people. I did’nt realise that my “real world” was going to become “surreal”.

A sense of belonging

I would walk into my school yard on the first day to find a few kids giving me a snide look wondering what planet had I descended from. That was the first time in my life i felt “different”. I would sit in the corner of my classroom, all alone, doing my own thing.No hellos. No Greetings. No one wanted to get to know the new kid. No one. It is here where I realized that I had to be “different” to belong to a certain group. I had to “fit in”. The “tribe” wouldn’t except me if i wasn’t to their liking. The bar was set high. It was the big city you see, everyone wanted to be “known”. To be “popular” to be “cool”. I would sit alone , perhaps with another new awkward kid, all alone before people would start interacting with me here and there, you know, for the sake of formality. Perhaps they were right. These kids have been together in the same class for years. They would be freaked out to have someone new enter their territory. Or perhaps they weren’t.

I soon started interacting with these kids on a regular basis, and soon I reached a point where I thought that I was myself again. Me, the old energetic, fun loving self. I would crack jokes, laugh,have fun, scream,shout, play. It almost would feel like I was back in the old days, back in eternia.

But something this time was wrong. Something was itching. Something did’nt feel right. I felt someone, something in my emotional blind spot, that others didn’t want me to see. Something that would be so ugly, that it would change my life forever.

My parents still don’t know what happened. They always remind me of the days when I would be so energetic I would single-handedly raise the energy in the room. They never knew the reason why I turned into this boring, uninteresting, depressed lump of crap who always had a frown on his face.

It was a normal school day like any other, when I walked into a classroom and placed myself silently into my seat. There was a group of kids huddled up in on the back benches, too engaged into a private conversation. I wasn’t concerned. Probably a new TV show or a cartoon series, or a new car, or some doll. But there was a slight pinch in my brain that made me listen to a part of their conversation.

They were talking about me.

I wouldn’t be concerned otherwise, but this conversation, was that dark little thing I was talking about. Hatred. Sheer, pointless, hatred.

Look at his hair. Its so disgusting,

Look at his feet, why does he stand like that?

Why is he so fat?

Why does he stand like that?

Why is his head so huge?

Is he a villager?

I wasn’t human anymore. I felt my sense of belonging shred away like a cheap piece of cloth. And worse, Those questions they had about me began to build a small place into my self-worth. I started building a template of how I should be. I started rejecting myself. The dissing and hatred went on for weeks. Months. Even after i got braces. The worst part was, no one would say anything directly to me. I would never know the Real reason why people hated me. It was something. I dont know whether something specific, or the general idea of my existance. But It was sheer hatred.

I started looking myself in my mirror, trying to change myself. Getting different hair cuts, wearing different shoes, losing weight, fighting. Fighting a silent battle, everyday. Fighting for acceptance. Acceptance, that was never to be mine, no matter what I did.

Every girl I would have a crush on would turn her head away rolling her eyes away, Not even giving me a chance. A chance to at least be a friend. To at least say one word, in my “defence”.

Him? Blech!!!! Never!!

is something I would hear on a daily basis.

The world seemed a dark and dreadful place for me. Every patch I would apply would never work. It came to a point when i would plead to people to please tell me what was wrong? Did I offend any one? Did I say something?

How can I change myself, in order to belong?

Finally, the inevitable happened.

I started hating myself.

more in part 2…………………………………………………………..