Late nights

Late as it is, with pop music blaring in the background and a multitude of knick-knacks strewn in front of me, there is that expectation of me to soldier on and continue my revision during this ungodly hour. I have been going through my notes ineffectively for the past four hours and I just might be at the point of indifference. Or perhaps it is just the ache on my arms from the lack of sleep that is bothering me. Perhaps it is both.

Across the table, I see an invitation being offered to someone and not me. I cannot help but feel the same old pain resurfacing despite my many attempts to hide it. Why him and not me? I have tried and worked at being ‘part of the gang’ and yet, you insist on excluding me. I am glad when I gain a modicum of acceptance but that is just how saddening that really is. Jumping at the slightest hint of salvation from the isolation like a newborn puppy or a neglected stepchild.

As the days pass by, I see myself being the outsider more often than not. No, this is not a cry for help from teenager seeking attention. It is merely an affirmation of my situation. A description of my inability to be one of the people. Just someone on the outside looking in. Does inclusion feel warm, like the blanket at 8 am in the morning and you have nowhere else to go for the rest of the day? Is it inviting like the grass to your toes after a shower? I really want to know.

There is also the possibility that I protest too much. Maybe I am accepted and am in someone’s inner circle.

I highly doubt that though. The ones I have chosen to stand by keep me utterly confused of my place in a position of utmost trust. I yearn for just that. To be told something that only I would know. Because I am that person to trust.

For now though, I do not know if it will ever happen.

Till another post, later days.