The Bliss In Being A Person With A Crippled Sense Of Socializing

It’s been quite a long while since I last posted something at WordPress. No, I didn’t start to hate it or something of that sort, though, at once, one might sense a sort of a pejorative charge towards social networking in this text that I actually wrote in a sort of irritation that had been draining my mouth of all the taste for a while now. I stopped visiting Facebook. Too much of abusive posts by pseudo-intellectuals has always pumped up a little bile up my throat from my gut, which, as it seems, churns uncomfortably when I am not really able to express the hatred that I gently tame for these hardly-inspiring inspirational posts.

These facets of some sort of chagrin not expressed were nothing, but consequences of a very odd, humiliating and a rather less intense moment that was more like a sort of epiphany for me. There were no other belligerents; only me.

Three months of a sort of a customary holiday after my state examinations within the walls of my home, and hardly any conversation with any of my colleagues or juniors or friends or whatsoever, save my mother and my father and my sister, aggravated the condition of my ailing sense of socialization. Around twelve years of my school life seem to have simply flown by. I have changed nine schools, and I can remember the names of none of my friends. I admit that I have been a social misfit ever-since I was a child. Mind you, never an outcast. I didn’t fit in because of my habit to judge people. I have been bad at it, but I can write a thesis giving you very accurate, detailed and , God forgive my conceitedness, interesting sketches of all the characters I have come across.

In any case, I realized, as if I had a stroke of vision or a dream or realization or revelation or whatever that might suit you,  that one of the many causes that make me a social misfit and the major reason of people not really flocking about me in the first place is my sense of communication.

I write well, God forgive my vanity, but when it comes to speaking, I can’t really express the simplest of expressions without a little stammer and a single, yet momentous grammatical error. Words just don”t come to my lips. A teacher, a very brilliant one, once pointed out to me this fact, to which I didn’t pay much attention. It struck me about a week ago. That my thoughts very scrambled, all jumbled up. And I liked to perform with speed but I realized then that I have always compromised efficiency because of that.

My parents do tell me to try and think clearly, and then speak carefully and slowly. I’d rather live my entire life like a mute and write down everything I’d to say. I admit I am a person with an extremely bad temperament, but again. I did give it a thought. And I am trying to improve myself.

I use very eloquent language, and my jokes aren’t easy to understand. For some reason or the other, I find it hard to stop myself.

But again, language is not the only thing, though it might be a vital element when you assess a person’s communication skills.

The second obstacle I find in my path to become a person with an impressive tongue is my attitude. I am not sure, but I think I don’t really attempt to conceal my contempt for someone. Concealing the truth has always been a hard task for me. I am polite, am humble, but not diplomatic. This, I think, pushes people away.

I hate chatting online with people I’d choose to meet face to face. It’s easy to handle them in person, because. Words are simply words. They cannot show the other person the twinkle in your eyes, or the slight impatience in your voice, or the ripples of laughter that escape as they are from your heart, so genuine that it’d simply infect the other. Relatives, for example. Actually, in my case, it’s my kinfolk only. One might use as many emoticons as possible. Or even type the longest of all the ‘hahaha’s. But that’s pretty stupid, I’d say.

Sadly enough, things do not run according to my wishes. Relatives who want to chat with me online do interpret my humble, non-eloquent, and simplest of replies to my indifference towards them. Internet connection, sometimes, decides to play the bad one, and my suddenly going offline, obviously, conveys to them my utter disrespect for them. And when you meet them in person, they’d surely raise that issue, and it happens a lot in Indian families. They’ll taunt me, ‘College has made you a high-headed young lady, nahin, madam?’ and laugh mercilessly. Miscommunication is a bad thing. I am a bit stubborn. I decided I’d rather not communicate.

I am somewhat of a dimwit. And extremely lazy. I don’t procrastinate things; I simply refuse to perform. I don’t promise you if I will highlight upon anything further that might give you an insight into my crippled sense of communication, but I can surely tell you that I am not a very enlightened being, and one must not really expect such sort of a self-introspection project  and study the conclusions at great detail, and prepare an essay, for a handful of people in this world of 7 point something something billion.

Kurosaki (2321 hours, Delhi, 7th of July, 2013)

 

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