My Cowardly Coy

I learned how to mask [and somehow suppress] my true emotions that they might not control me. I have evolved to a completely versatile charlatan from a total sucker in theater and acting. Everyday has become a performance, or I think it is. Or maybe I am just being a coward, afraid to face what really is.

Have I really mastered the art of pretention? Really?

I received a message from my mom asking, “How are you?” Before I can finish sending my reply my phone was already ringing, my mom was calling. I pressed the answer key and said, “Hello”, in the most cheerful way I can muster.

The first words that came out of the other line was, “How are you doing?” I really don’t want to talk about how I am feeling at the moment. I am struggling with my academics and life is not what I am hoping it would be.

I discovered myself caged in this emotional forlorn for some time now and I couldn’t seem to find a way out. I want to tell everything to her, she is the best-est  person I have and the one I always turn to when I need someone to talk to [I have a bestfriend my age also but when it comes to matters like this it’s usually my mom who I share it with].

This time I don’t want to burden her with this entire emotional clamor I am going through. I faked a laugh and responded, “I’m fine like the usual. How about you? Dad? Bro? Can you tell me some of the things I missed while I’m not there?” I was trying to divert the focus of our conversation to them because right now I can’t really afford to be the center of my parents’ attention. [I know my mom’s on loud speaker and my dad’s listening]

“Oh we’re good. Nothing huge has happened that you hadn’t known. What has happened to you lately?,” my mom said. Remembering that my brother hadn’t related his prom experience with me [although it had been two weeks ago since the event], I found a way of escaping my mom’s questioning.

I successfully managed to turn the topic on my brother’s prom. My mom enthusiastically shared how my brother prepared for that event and stuff like that. We shared a good laugh about her story. I think my brother was missing me also because after my mom’s recount it was him telling me how his prom went and a lot of funny things that occurred on the night of his prom. He also shared some of the romantic side of the story.

When all has been told my mom inquired how my internship applications were going. It struck me hard, in my pulsating little heart and it ached once more. I told her that no one has contacted me since the day I passed my résumé and that only this big power company has sent an e-mail invitation for the orientation that took place last Friday. It was the truth.

I didn’t want to get her hopes up that I’ll get in. [I just took the first step of many and attending the orientation doesn’t guarantee acceptance.] They have to evaluate the application kit which we answered on the spot and we had to take the test if they deem us fit based on our answers on the questions on that kit.

She reiterated the importance of getting an internship, that it will help me land a good job in the future which is a year from now. [My mom can be pushy sometimes and most of the time her high expectations annoys me but I love her still because she’s my mom]

I don’t want to break it to her that her average little girl might not be what those-oh-so-big-corporations are looking for.  Competition is tough and it is seemingly impossible for someone with a 3.0 to 3.30 grade point average be the chosen one considering that students with higher GPAs are also applying for that internship.

[I’m not that all too smart after all. I have lost that bragging right since I started this new theatrical performance.]

There’s just too much pressure and I thought I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I managed not to break down,  on the contrary I found my way out— I’m good-ol’-phony and I have almost perfected the craft.

After almost an hour of exchanges we said our goodbyes and hang up.

When I heard the beep telling me that the whole conversation has ended I wanted to cry. My heart started to ache literally and figuratively but before my gravity pulls the salty fluid out of my tear ducts there was a light knock on my door. I was going to let it out unfortunately my moment was ruined. It was my friend from the other room asking if I already had dinner and since I hadn’t I decided to eat with her.

I had to keep the agony that I am in and for the second time tonight I had to beguile my friend and myself that I am miss sunshine, pretty and bright.

When I got back in the solace of my room with the company of my books, notebooks, and readings cluttered on my table as well as on my bed the dysphoria kicked in once more. I had to turn to writing to release the distress I am encountering because I don’t want to bother others regarding my own problems. People have to deal with their own obstacles also.

There are times when it is good to speak about how I am truly feeling; but tonight is not that time. Sometimes it is better to weave the words together and put them into writing because no one truly understands the depth of a man’s emotions. It is a fact widely considered that the only person who knows the pain that the man is going through is the self, the one experiencing it.

For the same reason [sometimes if not most of the time], I opt to deal with my agony on my own. Sometimes it’s good to have cheerleaders behind your back saying, “You’ll get through it”, but NOT all the time. Moral support and words of encouragement are nice; yet again, what I truly need is a long-term solution to this seemingly unending problem.


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