Forthnights

Read me like a book

Am I really that easy to read?

I’ve been getting that impression lately. It seems the people around me can read me like a book. Or so they tell me. My girlfriend says I can be a real mystery sometimes because I just don’t tell things. But at the same time, she and another friend of mine both answered ‘yes’ when I posed them the question.

It seems I’m easy to guess when it comes to my taste in music, dressing, likes, dislikes etc. What’s more scary is when they start to guess how I feel about certain things, and they are right about it.

Am I really so one dimensional, so plain for all to see that people can just tell what kind of a person I am? A speaker came to my college recently, A corporate beauty training really. She just took one scan at me and said to me that I could be a banker; I had a very honest look about me that people trust. My first thought was “How on earth can you say that by just meeting me for 5 minutes?”

I admit, I’m not good at lying. At times when I do lie, its either something very small, or I make sure I’ve thought the lie out thoroughly before actually saying it. But suddenly, the people around me just start reading me like a book. Suddenly, what I like, who I like, what I dislike, who I don’t quite trust become plain for all to see.

It comes with familiarity maybe. After all, these people have known me for quite a long time. But what about that speaker that took one look at me and had an impression of me? She doesn’t know anything about me. My friend says its because I tend to be very frank, that I generally am very upfront about my feelings on things. I guess that is true to a certain extent. I make it a point not to hide it when I feel good about a person. Most of the time, I just tell the person directly how I feel about them. If I like their smile, I say so, if I think they have beautiful eyes, I say so, If I think they have a very interesting personality, again I say so? Is that why I become so easy to read? Because I tell people how I feel?

It seems almost contradicting from what I have been writing all these while. All this while, all I have been saying is how people don’t really know me, that people don’t really see me underneath it all. I do tell people how I feel about them, with the exception when I don’t really like them. To a certain extent, it does reflect on me, and from there, people can see what goes through my head. But for every word I say, every comment I make, there are 10 other things I though about that person that I do not say at all.

I don’t really know what point I’m trying to make here. I seem to just be drifting around in a sea of words. I think I have to admit to myself that I am in fact a very private person. I admit that I am in fact an introvert. I always thought myself an extrovert formally, but when people close to me start telling me that they don’t understand me, that I never tell them things, I start to realize. I don’t hide it from them, its just that they don’t ask, and I don’t tell. It doesn’t come out naturally. The thought of being read like a book by the people close to me is both comforting and terrifying. Comforting because I feel that at least these people know me, and know what I stand for; terrifying because they might just guess things about me that they shouldn’t really know about at all.

I had 2 long conversations with a good friend as well as my girlfriend, and they said some things to me that never really occurred to me. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. They told me that I was a relater; that I had a gift in relating to people. I don’t really know if I can call it a gift at all, but I do admit that I enjoy relating to people. Not every one, just some people. I enjoy getting to know them, knowing where they come from, who they are, what they stand for, why they are the way they are and mostly just build some sort of relationship. They tell me that it is not something that comes naturally, most people prefer to stay in their comfort zone instead of trying to befriend someone new.

The more I thought of it, the more it became crystal to me. I enjoy talking to people. Specifically, I enjoy talking to people with depth. I enjoy knowing them, relating to them, sharing their worries and hopes and sharing mine with them. On a few occasions, I had supper with friends of friends, of the opposite sex, who by any standards, were considered really physically attractive. Yes, I managed to strike up a conversation with her, yes there was light flirting here and there, but when I went home, I felt there was still a lot left to be desired. As pretty as she was, as chatty as she was there was a word that kept coming to me as we spoke… “Bimbo….bimbo…..bimbo….” I don’t mean to be crude. But it is how I felt. All looks, no brains. I’m not saying you have to be smart with an IQ of 180. But I get annoyed when the only things a woman can talk about are her looks and other women’s looks. Yes, you can talk about how cute Brad Pitt is, or about the latest shoe fashion, but make sure its not the only thing you know how to talk about!

On the other hand, a woman with a good head on her shoulders, who knows who she is, who has a good heart, who’s not afraid to stand up for what she believes in, now that’s attractive. Confidence, attitude, and heart: that truly makes a woman sexy. Not the short skirt, not the hourglass body, and certainly not all the make up in the world.

I don’t think I can just relate to anybody. There are many people around me whom I just have nothing worth to say to. Most of them enjoy making stupid slapstick jokes with absolutely no sense of finesse. Most of them only talk about the latest cars, the hottest model or the latest winner of Malaysian Idol….

I ask myself why I enjoy relating to people.. To a certain extent, maybe its because I feel the need to be needed. I want to feel that I matter to people, matter to them enough to share their feelings to me. What can be more private in this world that your feelings? What greater honour can there be than to be entrusted with someone’s feelings? To share you feelings with someone is to share a piece of yourself with that person. I think that is what I long for; to share a piece of people life. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to be a busy body, or nosy poker. When I ask questions of people, its because I genuinely want to know more, not because I have an itch to be scratched. Its so surprising how some guard their heart so closely, and how others seem to open up with only the slightest encouragement. But it its those who guard their heart closely that are really the hardest, but often most worth relating to; people who seem to have so much more underneath the surface; more than what meets the eye; people who not everyone likes; people who are often misunderstood; people with depth.

I don’t know how you tell them apart. But you just can. You look into their eyes, and perhaps I miss it sometimes, but there is always that look, that aura, that feel about them that tells you that there is so much more than what you see. Other times, when convention is defied, you come across people who do not seem the type with any depth at all, but upon more prodding, you become pleasantly surprised; not bimbo, not meathead after all.

Then you come across ogres once in a while. Ogres who like calling themselves onions; stinky with lots of layers.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 2:50 pm Comments: 0