The Revelation

I've known it all my life but now it has been confirmed: even though we share the same physical characteristics, I am not a girl by local definition. But it should be okay, right? Everyone has their differences. We just have to look past those differences and see the similarities. For one thing, we all like men, and that's a start right there.

If only liking men was enough to build common ground. Sorry, men.

The problem is, my mannerisms, which count as flaws in their eyes, are just too hideous and too unfeminine for them to simply overlook. Like how I sometimes forget to wash my bowl, or how my desk is stubbornly unorganized, how I don't verbalize my thanks, and don't apologize for everything. And apparently, for girls, the keeping of these habits is seen as a complete disregard for others' feelings.

After I asked them, and they explained this to me, they asked me how I felt.

I'm not angry, no. Hurt? Maybe a little, initially, but it's in my nature to forgive and move on. What I really feel, right now, is disappointment. Disappointment at the fact that I've known these girls for over three years now, and lived with most of them throughout that time, but now I realize that the people I thought were my friends are actually strangers who haven't quite accepted me. I said this, and they deny it, but I'm smart enough to know what is and isn't, even if most of the time I can't pick up on the hints they try to give me.

Maybe I have an idealized concept of friendship. I think that friendship is when you accept each other's personality and habits, learn to appreciate the differences between you, and enjoy the time you spend with each other. Maybe this is an ideal. But it can exist. I know it can because I have friends like Nena-nee, Alip, Anwar, Sulaiman, Greg, and I have my brothers and sisters who annoy me to no end but I wouldn't trade for the world. Do they understand this? Do they understand what it means to be yourself and be happy? I can only assume not, judging by how they have alienated me, and I pity them for it. These strangers, who have the misguided arrogance to call themselves my friends, how I pity them. And it disappoints me to discover I won't likely be able to share what I call friendship with them.

If you're reading this and think it's you I'm writing about, I apologize for my bluntness. Thanks for the memories, thanks for the enlightening experience, thanks for lending a hand when I needed it. I'm sorry I can't bring myself to conform to your ideals and I know that all of you are really nice people inside. I hope that someday, we may truly be friends.

P/S Mugen wishes Jiyuu would let Mugen kick their sorry butts.

The SMS

I need to do my laundry. I've been postponing laundry duty to make way for exam-season cramming, but if I postpone any longer, I'm going to run out of underwear. So, I go to the washing machine and guess what? Someone had left their clothes in it.

I guess clothes in the washing machine doesn't constitute as a crime according to the Girl Court of Law. I better write this down in my handy-dandy notebook.

Unwashed bowl on table: Social suicide.
Clothes in washing maching: Pardonable misconduct.

Okay, done taking notes. But I really need to wash my clothes. I wanted to know how long the clothes are intended to be left in the washing machine so I could ration my underwear. So I go ask my housemates to find out the owner of the clothes.

"Aku nyer,' says someone behind me. I turn to see that it's Miss Kashimashii, best buddy of The Notewriter.

Ah, says Brain, so I've found a loophole in Girl Law -- be best buds with the Social Judge, and you can get away with anything.

No, Brain, don't be sarcastic now, warns Jiyuu. Thank goodness only Jiyuu can hear Brain talking.

Unfortunately, someone told me that I have very readable facial expressions. And apparently, my sarcasm toward the pecking order of the girl world must have shown as displeasure on my face because Miss Kashimashii frowned.

I said a quick "Oh" and retreated into my room before I could do further damage but I knew then that it was too late. An SMS I received from Miss Kashimashii not long after confirmed my thoughts.

Did I do something wrong to you or do you have some kind of problem with me?

Again with the nonverbal communication. Sigh. What a dilemma. How should I respond without making things worse? I knew that not responding would be just as bad. Should I go out and talk to her instead? Curse her for putting me in this position. If it were up to Mugen, Mugen would rain curses on the sorry bitch so she would know not to mess with me in the future. (Mugen is my ego, with a very short temper and an extremely sharp tongue)

No, it's not you. I'm sorry if it seems that way. It's not you.

Okay, it's up to you. I gave you your chance. TQ.

She gave me a chance? Crikey, I really do have a messed up notion of female interaction. I thought she had just condemned me.

I'm sorry, [name removed]. I'm really really sorry. The problem is not you, okay. I'm sorry.

She didn't reply. I don't know if I patched things up or if I had just put my head on the guillotine. Sigh. Only one more semester of living like this. You'll get through this, Jiyuu. Ganbatte!

Remember what I said about me not being good at pretending? Well, I'd better learn fast.

The Note

I don't know what it feels like to be a guy. Sometimes I think I'd be better off as a guy, not because I understand guys inside and out, but because I just don't understand girls. I don't like dividing the world into guys and girls, but I've just had too much bad experience with girls that I'm beginning to feel so alien among those of my own gender.

A few days ago, I forgot to wash a bowl. One empty bowl on the table, unwashed. That evening, a note was left in the bowl.

"Kalau lepas guna, tolong basuh A.S.A.P!" said the note.

The first thought that came to mind was, have all the habitants in this house lost the ability of verbal communication? A note. They left me a note -- telling me to wash my bowl. I am being socially condemned for committing the heinous crime of forgetting to wash my bowl, and they left me a note to inform me. Wow, I feel so privileged.

The rest of the evening left me struggling in an internal battle of deciding whether to be angry or be victimized. Both are poor choices, I thought. Being angry just takes the energy out of me. If I decided to leave notes for every action of theirs that annoys me, then that would be the start of a never-ending cycle of hate. Not to mention a whole lot of notes. So it's up to me, the pacifist, to end things before they begin (See, reading Naruto does have its merits, you know). And I loath the idea of being the victim of anything. It's just so degrading. So even though it took me a whole night of intermittent anger and sadness, in the end I decided to just let it slide and pretend that nothing happened. The end -- or so I wish.

The problem is, I'm just not good at pretending to be something I'm not. And since I had a fair idea of who left the said note, I just couldn't ignore it. Or her. I knew the note-leaver never liked me for some unexplainable reason. And the note thing was the last straw. I could forgive and forget for the rest of my housemates. But it was just too hard for me to forget the actions of The Notewriter.

And I keep telling myself not to bother. I'm above this. Istighfar, Jiyuu. Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I have to play by the rules of girls. Besides, if I'm going to have to live like this for another semester, I'm going to set some rules of my own.

Rule number one: Always listen to Buck.
Rule number two: In the absence of an individual whom goes by the name of Buck, improvise.

Yep, so improvise it is. But you know what the funniest thing is? Only girls can make me as miserable, angry and confused as this. And they can even do it over one unwashed bowl. Gotta hand it to 'em.