Question Existing

Why do people hang out with me? Have you ever asked yourself that? I have found myself meditating over this question for the past few years.

There is nothing fundamentally interesting about me.

I have no party tricks.

I hardly ever have intellectual conversations (mostly because I laugh more than I speak).

I make no effort to meet new people.

I often zone out on “friends” when they natter.

Those who know me will tell you that I am not particularly nice.

If you pay enough attention to what I say you will notice that most of it is just a twisted repetition of what you say.

I am not so beautiful that people would kill a baby, a hobo and a priest with the same bullet to be seen with me.

When I DO speak it is a string of words and phrases that make one wonder how long it must have taken me to formulate my peculiar non-language.

I wear so many arm bracelets you could hear me doing the Macarena in Japan.

The point is, I am not somebody that people should want to be associated with. In fact, I am possibly the strangest person you will ever meet (and I do not mean this in an intriguing way). Be that as it may, I find that my social circle has a ridiculously wide circumference. I have a lot of friends who insist on being around me even in silence.

I could say that they are attracted to me because I am rather entertaining and amusing when I am under certain influences, but I am not perpetually drunk. So unless they spend their days waiting for me to pick up a bottle of wine and say/do something stupid, it makes no sense why they want to be around me. I often find myself struggling to understand whether it is stupidity, empathy or sympathy that compels the masses to interact with me.

In my second year of varsity, after continuously hearing people declare how much they miss me, I have come to the conclusion that people like me for the very reasons that I believe they should not like me for. And from that I have realised that the question I should be asking is “what is wrong with my friends?”

How scarred do you have to be to find my company both desirable and satisfying? How uninteresting do you have to be to be content with sitting in a room with a good-as-mute mannequin who has bursts of obscure would-be-sentences after every 45 minutes? What has the world done to you for you to sit through spontaneous spurts of laughter that go unexplained?

Friends, my question to you is...why do you hate yourselves? Search your souls.