54. insecurities & wishes
i am neither confident nor comfortable with the amount of times i blink when i talk. the amount of times i blink, period. i believe i blink too much. my eyes are just constantly fluttering. when i see videos of myself in conversation, i can't stand the sight of that flutter. why can't i just be still, strong and powerful, like a lead in a hong kong film or brad pitt in fight club.
i wish i was a better fighter. i wish i could put up a fight with another instead of giving up. i feel wishy-washy and weak and submissive. i don't want to be that. i want to be the 6'6" shooting guard who dominates in the low post with mean back down and hook. i've never been in a brawl before. maybe a few verbal blows and name calls here and there on the soccer field, at most a slap or a shove, but never a punch. the only things i've ever punched with all my might are wooden slabs on the smelly mats of a dojo and a pillow in a queen size bed.
i don't like my voice. i am not comfortable with hearing the way i sound. it's so high. and it's not even the cool, charismatic, artistic kind of high like prince or MJ. it's the kind of high that's like rye bread. just kind of... plain. nothing special. nothing deep or charming or beautiful. i feel like a child the way i sound. and especially when i sing. i wish i sounded more manly. when i shout, i don't boom or bellow. it feels more like a call.
i hate to admit that i stalk people on instagram. i stalk people indiscriminately -- a true champion of diversity and inclusion. i feel like such a greasy creep when i do. i feel gross. it feels like drooling over beautiful people and smiles of success and happiness like porn.
i wish i could live in a world where people walked around naked. no matter who you are. for a day, no clothes. no underwear, no bra, no nothing. nipple patches the most ludicrous invention, a laughable relic in a museum in this world. people would lie down on the grass naked, drink coffee and tea and kahlúa in cafes naked, sit in auditoriums naked, ride the subway station butt naked. oh, and this world would be disease-free. STIs wouldn't exist, let alone tuberculosis or monkey pox or the flu.
one evening in my junior year of college at 7 pm, me and three of my friends gathered at the second floor of a spiral staircase in the underground library. it's a tradition as old as millennia for seniors to heave up their shirts like graduation caps and run down the hallways lined with bookcases, and then walk back, maybe a light jog, to retrieve their clothings and head back home. as old as millennia.
i watched. gazed. sneaked in a stare. at both the young men and women. it was such an interesting sight. i know it's weird if you look too long, but when else do you get to see your physics discussion partner run so carefree beside a girl from alpha wazowski omega omega?
i wish to run like that. naked, sweaty and free. minus the crowd of hundreds of 18-20 year old college students. or maybe the crowd adds to the feeling, who knows. definitely minus the photographs.