Forthnights

Onions have layers

Sometimes I confuse even myself. I don’t understand why I do the things I do. Sometimes, I think I’m this really screwed up guy. It feels almost like leading a double life.

When I’m out in the world, I’m Eu-Hann, the nice guy, the gentleman, the friendly guy, the sociable guy, the guy not afraid of talking to strangers, well spoken, not shy to speak in public blah blah blah…… Many people have said many kind words to me of my character. I welcome these as a boost to my self esteem, except being called ‘cute’.

Now, I don’t really know what these ladies mean when they say I’m ‘cute’, but I’m pretty sure its not “Oh, look at Brad Pitt, he’s so cute!” kind of cute. When they say cute, I think of 2 words “Ugly but adorable.” Now, that’s the definition of cute! Kind of like a piglet or a little monkey. Other than that, Winnie the Pooh, Snoopy and Super Mario make the cut. So when they say I’m cute, I think “Do I really look like Winnie or Mario?” When I expressed this to a friend, she just said “Well, you are cute in a way.” What does that mean? Cute in a way? What way is that? Do people feel like cuddling me coz I’m cute? Since the Brad Pitt cute is out of the window, which leaves me to conclude that I am indeed like Pooh.

Maybe I do give the impression that I am this well mannered, Jackie Chan nice guy (minus the nose), and perhaps to a certain extent they might be right. But the more I hear these words, the more I am reminded of that other side of me. That other side I have kept from (almost) everyone else; that other side that I keep so well hidden behind that towering invisible wall I have somehow created around myself.

The fact is, not many people see me for what I truly am. I guess I deliberately hide it too. The reason is simple. I’m afraid that if I go around showing everyone how I truly am, no one would want to be my friend! Remember that movie Shrek? Shrek tries to tell the Donkey that Ogres are like onions. Donkey assumes that he means that Ogres are stinky. Shrek says “No! Onions have layers! Ogres have layers! Ogres are like onions, we have layers.” Get it? I guess I’m sort of an ogre too. I have layers too. Different people see different layers of what I am. There’s the public me; which is plain for everyone to see. Pull one layer and you see more of me, the side my friends see. Pull one more layer, and you see the intimate part of me; the Eu-Hann with half a dozen dark secrets, not daring to say anything to anyone, just hoping the right person comes along to ask the right questions you long so much to answer. But pull that down, and you see a side of me no one, except God himself sees. You see the insecure side of me, the evil side of me; sloth, gluttony, lust, greed, envy, pride, anger, you name it, I got them all big time, no kidding.

Some people go through phases when growing up. They go through this rebellious phase where they just do whatever they feel like, they indulge themselves in their feelings, into their thoughts. I never had those phases. The more I think of it, the more I feel; maybe I should have. Some friends I know tried their hands on drugs, going to pubs, getting involved in all sorts of trouble, promiscuous one night stands and the rest of it all. But I guess their rebellious streaks eventually come to an end, and after having their fun, they settle down and become normal once again. I’m not saying I want to try drugs or start bedding woman; I don’t. I just wonder how come I did not go out and do all the crazy things young people do. How come I never felt the need to conform to my friends, to have fun drinking and hitting on strange woman, or to do things on an impulse like colouring my hair purple or getting my nipples pierced? The fact that I never even went through this phase, the fact that I never felt the need to express my individuality in any big way leads me to the question, am I normal? Then it leads me to “Is this why I feel the way I do? Is this why I have this inner most layer of frustration?” As if there is some part of me that has never been let out when it should have. Would I still feel this way if I had in fact let myself loose and just go wild like every other youngster?

I know I shouldn’t even be typing this, and don’t ask me how I found out; but I have a friend who’s gay. I don’t know if he will ever be straight in the end, but he really went for it when trying to determine his sexuality. He was my good friend in school. He and I did chat about the matter, though I never suspected that he was gay. He asked me how homosexuals had sex. Logically, I said since men don’t have vagina’s, the only other hole would be anal I guess. “Doesn’t that hurt?” he asked me. My reply: “How on earth am I supposed to ever know?!” He started meeting other homosexuals online, started meeting up with these closely knit bunch of people personally. I guess since I couldn’t give him an answer to whether it hurts, he had to find the answer himself; he tried poking his butt hole with the end of a toothbrush (don’t ask me how I found out, who’s tooth brush it was or whether he used lubricant! I honestly don’t know.) I know that by the time we were both 19, he was already well integrated into the gay community, and was no stranger to fellatio (if you don’t know what fellatio means, don’t look it up. That means that you still have an untainted mind).

My point is how come I have never experience such streaks before? Not about being gay, but about just being young and stupid. The burning question is “If I had bump around more, bruised myself more and made more mistakes, would I still feel the way I feel now?” Is it possible that I feel this way because I somehow have the impression that I haven’t made enough stupid mistakes?

Sometimes, I just want to tell someone all this things. I just want to say “Hey, I know you think I’m a nice guy, and thank you for your confidence, but there is more of me. I have done things I am too ashamed to tell anyone, I have thought things I shouldn’t even be thinking about, and I have said things I should never have said. I’m not perfect. I’m far from it; in fact, I’m afraid if you knew all that was in my heart, you would no longer be able to accept me. But here it is…….”

But the reality of it all is, I dare not. I dare not lay my heart out, plain for someone to see, with all its flaws and weaknesses. I dare not expose myself; totally let my guard down, absolutely honest, absolutely vulnerable. Again, it is the fear of rejection, the fear of judgement, the fear of a secret thought of disgust on their part. Even with this blog, I burn with embarrassment every time I think that someone actually reads it. Read my header words; its written to no one and to everyone. Seems kind of conflicting, but to me, it makes sense. On one hand, I write my deepest thoughts, my worries, my insecurities, my problems, things that I would hardly ever willingly tell another person. On the other hand, it is these things that I feel the need to share with someone the most. It’s a big dark secret about yourself you can’t bring yourself to tell anyone about. But the fact that it’s a secret compels you to confide in someone.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 1:12 pm Comments: 0