I called a friend "weird" the other day. Not in a "You're weird" kind of way. I said "I attract weirdos". He was highly affronted. He seemed placated when I rephrased it as "unique".
What's wrong with being weird?
I was reticent in school. Dull, almost. I had a rather small gang of friends, united by a common derision of typical high school behaviour. We were the stragglers after the bandwagon of "happening kids" had gone by. At 16, we discussed life like Woody Allen was channeling his spirit through us. I was the kid with overprotective parents and my best buddy was a fairly petite girl, very insecure about people in general. We clung on to each other for dear life, along with a couple of other misfits waiting for the horror of high school to end.
In college, equations change. People discover sides to themselves they never thought existed. It emboldens you because it makes you different. After years of trying to fit in, the answer comes to you in a moment of glory - the point is to stand out, not fit in.
As if in a celebration of all that is eclectic, college brought along a group of eccentric acquaintances for me.
There's the girl with a genuine love for cats. Its not because she's lonely. She adores cats because they represent a better breed than humans to her. Then there's a closet couch potato who will not leave her room for days because Korean Manga is more exciting than real life. So she pursues it with all her might. She has learnt a bit of Japanese and Korean to understand it better. There's also the one that still quotes Woody Allen every chance she gets.
There is the guy that experimented with hallucinogens and now likes tea more than anything else as a stimulant. Two rooms down from him is a freak with an eidetic memory. He's a junkie for numbers. Just any figures - salaries, dates, etc. and he remembers. Names and conversations - not so much. There is the resident funny one. He can't say two sentences without cracking a joke, albeit a lot of bad ones. Then of course, there's the one that is almost Kramer-like (from Seinfeld). Phasing in and out of conversations and whimsical as one can be, he's a Kubrick fan and discusses exclusively dark and disturbing movies that would scare the living daylights out of regular people.
It is not the mere fact that they are different. It is how blatantly the uniqueness shines through that makes them "weird". I would put it differently though. I'd call them "wired differently". Everyone has a "thing". A quirk that endears them to you. Weird is interesting. Weird is what you enjoy in their company. A different outlook on life and lifestyle. When I'm describing someone to a person, I'm intrigued by them if I say they're "weird".
My best friends on campus are juxtapositions of each other. One is a nut for socialising, the other a complete antisocial. One spends all her living hours talking to people around the world on subjects as varied as child rights, social change and boyfriends. The other would rather shut himself in a quiet corner of the coffee shop with his laptop for days, not talking. The stark difference in dynamic is a study in human behaviour. Having observed them closely enough, realisation struck. While to a passerby they're perfectly functioning people, they're more than just what they appear to be. And once you begin uncovering the layers, everyone is weird.
I wonder what my "thing" is. Might just be the fact that I like crazy stories. Especially the ones that I'm a part of.
What's wrong with being weird?
I was reticent in school. Dull, almost. I had a rather small gang of friends, united by a common derision of typical high school behaviour. We were the stragglers after the bandwagon of "happening kids" had gone by. At 16, we discussed life like Woody Allen was channeling his spirit through us. I was the kid with overprotective parents and my best buddy was a fairly petite girl, very insecure about people in general. We clung on to each other for dear life, along with a couple of other misfits waiting for the horror of high school to end.
In college, equations change. People discover sides to themselves they never thought existed. It emboldens you because it makes you different. After years of trying to fit in, the answer comes to you in a moment of glory - the point is to stand out, not fit in.
As if in a celebration of all that is eclectic, college brought along a group of eccentric acquaintances for me.
 |
| Kramer! |
There is the guy that experimented with hallucinogens and now likes tea more than anything else as a stimulant. Two rooms down from him is a freak with an eidetic memory. He's a junkie for numbers. Just any figures - salaries, dates, etc. and he remembers. Names and conversations - not so much. There is the resident funny one. He can't say two sentences without cracking a joke, albeit a lot of bad ones. Then of course, there's the one that is almost Kramer-like (from Seinfeld). Phasing in and out of conversations and whimsical as one can be, he's a Kubrick fan and discusses exclusively dark and disturbing movies that would scare the living daylights out of regular people.
 |
| Phoebe Buffay |
My best friends on campus are juxtapositions of each other. One is a nut for socialising, the other a complete antisocial. One spends all her living hours talking to people around the world on subjects as varied as child rights, social change and boyfriends. The other would rather shut himself in a quiet corner of the coffee shop with his laptop for days, not talking. The stark difference in dynamic is a study in human behaviour. Having observed them closely enough, realisation struck. While to a passerby they're perfectly functioning people, they're more than just what they appear to be. And once you begin uncovering the layers, everyone is weird.
I wonder what my "thing" is. Might just be the fact that I like crazy stories. Especially the ones that I'm a part of.
No comments:
Post a Comment