Not physically tired, but emotionally tired. I decided to check the misogynoir tag on tumblr. Not a bad idea, but I was already feeling like I lacked confidence, and with the misogynoir… I’m just.
I’m not too sure.
I hate people because as a population, we are stupid.
Honestly, hot is hot no matter race. Attractiveness literally does not judge. Beauty is beauty. It is the eye of the beholder who judges.
But it sucks. Because I believe I’m pretty, but whenever a guy looks disgusted at me, it feels like a punch to the stomach because:
Am I not pretty?
Is it because I’m black?
Am I too big?
Most of the time, I flip my hair, shake my thing, and make him wish he took back his look.
But sometimes… When it is somebody I want, somebody I like… It hurts and I lose myself.
Sometimes. I hate myself for thinking this way. But most of the time, I hate everybody else for making me and making others think that way too.
I wish I could post a picture of them, but if he ever come across this blog, he might think I’m weirder than I actually am.
There’s something about them that make me smile, too.
His eyes show innocence, his smile conveys genuineness, but his voice holds wisdom and knowledge past his years.
He’s either hiding a deep secret that will make me hunger for him, or he is as sweet and innocence as he seems.
I want to know more; I’m dying to know more.
Because part of me knows that I am pretty without makeup, but then there’s a tiny part of me that likes to bring me down.
"You’re not pretty enough," she keeps on telling me.
And I put on the makeup.
"There you go," she winks.
And it is killing me. Because I forgot what it feels like to be confident in my own skin. Now my “skin” that I feel comfy in, is one with makeup.
Today was so…
maybe I am as shallow and superficial and vain as people perceive me to be.
- *playing 20 questions: my favorite game to get to know people*
- C: So if you could marry any celebrity who would it be?
- Me: I have no idea...
- M: I am DONE with this game! No more questions!
- Me: *pouty face* Really? Well. That's harsh. Okay. Fine. At least you weren't rude about it.
- M: It's a silly question.
- Me: *poutier face. turns around. sulks*
- M: SORRY! NO WE CAN CONTINUE PLAYING. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR?
- Me: *sulks harder*
- J: Ignore her. She pretends to be sad when she doesn't get her way. Don't let her rope you in.
- Me: *evil glare*
- S: Finally. Somebody told her what's up.
- Me: I hate you.
- M: No! I'll play! I'll just answer funny questions! I'd marry Betty White!
- C: LOL
- Me: My favorite colors are pink and purple.
- J: She roped you in...
- Me: SORRY FOR FORCING MYSELF ONTO YOU
- Everybody: ............
- C: OMG LOL
- Me: My friendship...
- M: Oh, no worries, I gotchu. What other questions do you have?
- This conversation made me so freakishly happy and I have no idea why. I just love this convo and I think the dynamic between everybody was just so airy and light and funny and I love my friends/co-workers <3.
freaking thoughts keeping me up at night.
I know I should not care what people think.
Well, honestly, I do not care a lot. At all. Honestly.
But, there are some people that get under your skin… The ones you want to impress. Impress isn’t even the right word, but I cannot think of the word. These people aren’t necessarily your best friends, but they’re also not randoms. They’re in-between and you want to “impress” them so that you can blossom a friendship. True friends should love you no matter what you do and randoms… well, they’re a short moment in my long life, so if I care about what they think… Ok.
Anyways. So there is this guy. (I KNOW. COMPLAINING ABOUT A GUY. HOW ORIGINAL.) He’s cool, yeah. Don’t have romantic feelings. So why should I care about what he thinks? I do not even think it is a matter of what he thinks about me, but how he portrays it.
I know I talk a lot. It is part of me. I had a phase where I did not talk for a while because I was afraid of people judging me because I got told once I talked too much and my voice sucked and I became so self conscious. I became so sad and very depressed. I lost a part of myself. But then I woke up and decided that YES I DO TALK A LOT. And do I care? HELL NO. Should you care? IF YOU DO, THEN GET THE FUCK OUT. Simple as that, truly.
So, yeah, I talk a lot. About nonsense. I talk about my life and I like to inquire into the life of others. If you tell me, kindly, to stop talking, I will usually stop talking. I do not get offended easily, and even if I do, I get over it just as quickly. For the few times I get offended and stay offended, it is because I got struck in one of the few and very small places that actually hurts.
But don’t be rude about it, especially weeks after the fact.
Maybe he wasn’t rude. Maybe I felt it was rude because I was feeling self-conscious that day. Maybe I am trying to find a reason to dislike you. But I thought it was rude. There are like at least 5 nice ways to tell me that I was annoying. Or make it a back-handed compliment: “Haha, you were so annoying but now I’ve grown to love it because you’re awesome.” Or something.
Not… “Seriously. Just ignore her. She’ll stop talking soon, if you’re lucky,” in a deadbeat tone of voice to the new guy.
Maybe it is also just because I want to impress the new guy, that I felt so butthurt. I don’t know. I should not care.
Like, part of me knows he is kidding around, but part of me is hurt just because I like to talk because I hate, and I mean HATE, feeling alone.
To be fair, I told him I admire honesty, so if I do get annoying to let me know, but still.
Look at me, getting in touch with my feelings.
Well. I think after talking this out (I was literally talking to myself while writing this post), I feel 100x better! See. I get over things easily because I talk them out (usually to other people, which is why I have a lot of friends who are in no way connected to each other hahahaha.)
I think I can fall back asleep now.