The first weeks of my new college have resemble my worst years of junior high more than I’d wish for.
You see, I wasn’t really popular while I was growing up, and it was mostly my own fault; there weren’t any bullies or Regina Georges to blame. It’s Simple, I don’t like the attention. I spent most of my classes laughing with a friend about how much the word angina sounds like vagina, and that’s about it.
Where I’m going with this… ? Hum… Let me check my notes. Ok, here it is: Starting a life in a new place is hard, at any age (yes, I’m pretending I’m giving you brand new information. Go along with it and nod, please). It’s even harder for someone who blushes every time all eyes are on her; and worse if she can’t avoid those eyes since every time she opens her mouth people think “oh, she talks funny”.
Considering my social disability, it is a given that I won’t be receiving friendship bracelets any time soon. On the contrary, I have found myself alone in my room listening to Boulevard of Broken Dreams wondering if that phase wasn’t suppose to be over about 5 years ago.
But, before Holden Caulfield gives me a pat on the back, I have to say… I’m not complaining; I’m aware this things take time.