When I was a little girl I had this toy. I think everyone had one. It was a yellow square box that had shapes on all of its sides. There was a latch that opened on one of the sides and inside the box were all these shapes. You dump the shapes out of the box, close the latch and try to fit the colorful shapes into its corresponding holes.
I wasn’t good at it or maybe I just didn’t want play by the rules.
I would try until I was red in the face to fit the star into the oval or the oval into the triangle or the triangle into the square. I knew that I could make it fit and with enough effort it would go in. It didn’t but I was still certain that I could make it fit if I tried hard enough.
I also did something similar with my clothing. If my clothes fit in the most unnatural way I would purposely try to burst out of my clothing so that I could feel what I considered ultimate peace.
My mom hated taking me clothes shopping. She would know it by my face that it didn’t fit “right.” It looked fine on but it didn’t feel fine on. If the crotch on my pants were too high and I’d come out of the dressing room, hang my head low and say in Thai the equivalent of “tight crotch” and my mom knew that I would never wear those pants if she bought them.
This would explain why she would buy the same pants in multiple colors if I found anything that fit right. She also dressed me in skirts and dresses a lot, which I would still have to wear shorts under because I was always upside down on the monkey bars.
If my sweater was too tight I’d purposely stretch it by filling my belly with as much air as possible and squeezing like I was constipated until the seams ripped and the satisfaction would send a content and gleeful ripple across my little body.
When I’m super agitated I like to squeeze packaged things in the supermarket to crush them under the weight of my mighty fingers.
My point being that I like my rules and my world and when I try to get someone to understand where I’m coming from and it doesn’t quite work out, I get perturbed to the point where I want to break something – figuratively or literally. I get frustrated at the fact that they cannot see things the way I see them which makes only perfect sense to me. Because I like to think that I’m pretty understanding and empathetic to other people’s feelings, even if they aren’t particularly keen to my own. And when you don’t explain yourself I can only begin to comprehend the situation, the circumstances and your actions using my own sometimes illogical logic and it makes even a bigger mess out of everything.
I need to be around people who love to talk about substantial things with passion or just have passion for anything (even a potato will do), have an opinion to disagree, aren’t so afraid to be outspoken or honest and aren’t so goddamn “superficially nice” all the time. Fight me. Prove me wrong. It’s okay for people to disagree with you, you don’t have to please everyone all the time. I think I’ve got you all figured out, but I don’t. I don’t even know who you are.
I just don’t understand where 1:30am phone calls plays into all of this. What does that mean? You just don’t call anyone at 1:30 in the morning on a Monday night. There are very few people you can do that to. It’s like a VIP list. Exclusive. So, then I wonder what that means. If it means anything at all. And, if I were to reciprocate and call you at 1:30am and let’s say it’s actually an emergency and of course you probably wouldn’t pick up and I left a message that I needed an ambulance. I would probably die waiting for help to arrive.
See, a friendship in the simplest terms would mean that there’s reciprocation. That as much as you can count on me to answer that phone call regardless of what time it was, I would expect you to do the same for me. That’s what it means to care about someone. FYI, this isn’t just about a phone call. It’s a metaphor people.
Try to understand this from my point of view. God knows I’ve tried to understand from yours.
I’ve even put the shapes in the right holes for you against my better judgment.