My parents can't accept that I don't have friends. They don't like that I'm happy alone, or they can't fathom how. Their eldest daughter is in a prestigious art school in Europe; their eldest son was a four-year letterman in various sports; their youngest daughter was a national chess and violin champion; their youngest son had a photographic memory. I was the black sheep, who wasn't interested or gifted in anything. When it came to academics, I was barely literate, and I didn't really see the point in that either. I didn't like to exert myself in sports or other activities, especially not talking to people. During my free time, I just watched videos on my phone. Most of the time, I could get away with it even in school as teachers didn't pay attention to me. Why would they?
However, there became a point when watching those videos no longer interested me. Those videos were made by people after all. All forms of media were, and I couldn't really relate to people. I no longer felt joy or fun, so humor didn't appeal to me. It was the same with tragedy or anything that was supposed to entertain or provoke a certain kind of emotion. I started a new hobby. I would take a crayon, open a page of my notebook, and just color it in plainly- no detail. There wasn't supposed to be any detail. I wanted the color to be as uniform and smooth as possible- to be perfect and neat. That's what I strove to do- make those blank pages look like they were dyed perfectly like they were printed in that color. I strove to perfect this. That's all I wanted to do and have- a world filled plainly in a single color.
Every time I opened my eyes and observed the scenery, I would look for the most abundant color. I tried to use my imagination and concentration to adjust my vision so that all I could see was that color- in one uniform shade, with no outlines or details. Apparently, that takes the beauty out of things, but basicness is beauty to me. I don't like anything elaborate or detailed. I don't like the noise either, which is why I don't like to talk to people. Sometimes I don't even like hearing myself breathe. Anyway, this particular interest of mine and whatever practice I used to adjust my vision accordingly- whether it was squinting or straining my eyes- caused my eyesight to become extremely bad. It didn't help that I didn't cooperate much during my eye appointments. I didn't want to see what they wanted me to see. I didn't want to clearly see all those letters on the screen when the background was much more beautiful. The blurrier the letters were, the happier I was.
The people who cared about me grew concerned for me. They wanted to change me, but I think all their efforts just proved that they couldn't. They took me to various professionals, but psychiatrists and psychologists were just more people I didn't want to talk to. They told me to write my feelings, but I could barely write without straining my hand, and there were no feelings to write down. I never practiced writing or properly did my homework to be particularly capable of it. My handwriting was illegible, and I couldn't spell. I never took notes in class. I never tried to. I couldn't really read the board well either with my poor eyesight and because I never practiced reading; I couldn't even finish reading a children's book.
The new idea that my parents came up with was worse than the rest. What if I went on the Honors History Trip? I wasn't in Honors History, obviously, but they pulled some strings. I wouldn't have to write reports, present at conferences, or participate in debates. I just had to go with them to see various monuments- some even abroad. What an exciting opportunity for literally anybody else! My parents thought this would be a good idea for me to have fun, explore, and possibly befriend some elite students. Little did they know that I was just going to act more reclusive.
On buses or planes, I either sat alone, with strangers, or with the teachers. It was the worst when teachers tried to talk to me. They tried being polite, but when I didn't reciprocate their enthusiasm, it ended in awkward silence. I stared outside the window the whole time, trying to get rid of all the trees, grass, wildlife, clouds, etc. so I could see a plain blue two-dimensional block. My parents called to ask about the various exciting monuments I saw, only to be disappointed about my lack of interest, knowledge, enthusiasm, perception, and perspective. I didn't even know what I was looking at. I wasn't even looking at it, honestly. I was erasing it to get my plain background back.
