It’s funny how my mother can supposedly tell if I have a problem or that there’s something wrong just based on my expression. She’ll ask what’s wrong and I insist I have no problem, that I’m just really tired. She goes on saying that she knows me well. I’m sorry but you’re wrong.
It’s funny how my third oldest sister can tell that what her younger sisters likes and favorites can reflect who they are. She has precisely concluded my other two sisters’ personalities with what they like. But to me, all she can say is that I’m weird. Then, concluding that she knows us very well. Maybe she knows the other two but she can’t even tell a single shit that I like. Ding dong! Wrong again!
It’s funny how my family can only describe me with one word: weird. I’ve realized that weird is such an overrated word. And it’s not just my family. My sixth grade teacher called me weird. Some of my classmates call me weird. Is that the best they can describe me? I bet you my closest friends have other adjectives in mind to describe me. Hell, I have other adjectives in mind to describe myself.
Lately, I was starting to get annoyed at people calling me weird. But now, I’m just gonna fuck it. Like “Fuck you! And your impression of me!”