I Mean, Why Is It So Hard…

Oh, hi.

This is my first blog, so forgive me if I am a little too eager or sound a little childish or go off topic.

First, let me introduce myself. I am a girl, and my name is — let’s say I’m the first member of the Society, so, One??

My name is One and I am in my early 20s. I was kind of insecure about my age (ikr?), don’t judge me there. See how I said I WAS? Yeah, now I’m over it — like it was kind of a drug. Basically, it was. But that’s a story for another day. I am from a place distant from where you are, a small village, but the place I live in right now doesn’t want to be called one. Honestly, it is for me, as I come from a pretty little city near the mountains. Trust me, the morning view is so beautiful that I only realized it was a killer view after I moved out. Sad, yeah, I know, but at least I’m grateful now that I know, I guess.

I am a yapper, as you may have gotten a hint by now. And most importantly, I am a med school student. I know! Cheery, hyped, fucking optimistic? Dude, I am in the wrong place for sure. I don’t know about my other med friends’ study environment, but I feel like I’m surrounded by shitty people who are just academic and have no sense of being a doctor or even a basic human.

Okay, that may be extreme, but hellooooo, what are your twenties for if you are not extreme? Honestly, it is exhausting — blaming others, myself, and everything. Isn’t it always easy to find fault or blame others?

I was basically a spoiled kid with moral values, that’s it. Before you judge me, it was a hard job without a manual to follow. I mean, you have spoiled kids and kids who don’t act their age (I don’t know how they do that), but me — I was spoiled in a way that I got what I wanted through tantrums, knowing exactly why my mom said no or why I shouldn’t throw one, but still doing it. That was basically my life. Unclear. Vague. But always getting my way.

But after I moved away, I got to know I wasn’t alone. Manuals for me are basically movies, books (you know the kind), and song lyrics. Yeah, I’m a little romantic, I guess.

When I moved away, I met people — a lot of different ones. In school, everything was, how should I put it, like a family? They were just there, present even when you messed up. But in college, no. I mean, I don’t blame them. Even I wouldn’t have stayed if they messed up the way I did.

I was a give-no-shit girl. If something was out of my hands (I cry), that’s it (see, spoiled). But it doesn’t work that way here.

I still remember a fight — not the first, but one where I got hurt for the first time — because my friend said I had a huge ego. That hurt me. So I fought back, cried, and got labeled as sensitive.

But it wasn’t just a label; it followed me everywhere. Like when I shared how I felt angry about something, I was called sensitive.

At first, it was okay. Then I started to believe it. I believed it so much that I became insensitive. Let me explain. Every time my friend hurt me, I didn’t fight immediately. I took time, as I usually do. And during that time, I spoke to myself in different perspectives — both theirs and mine — and every conclusion came to me being overly sensitive and that I shouldn’t create drama over it.

It went on for a year until I forgot to hear myself and feel myself being hurt. Then one day I decided, this is enough. I am hurt. Even if I’m called sensitive, I’m going to speak up. It led to a lot of fights and a literal turn of events in my life. Maybe I should make it a series — One’s Journey.

So in short, it was hard for me to take that step, to decide I’m not sensitive — but I did. But I didn’t know that wasn’t the hard part.

The hard part was continuing to believe it. And the rest of the story, I guess, is for another day.

Thanks for staying with me, cuties — my fellow members of the Society. It would be nice if you names right? Should I call One’s people? That’s a little tacky thou. Suggest me some.

Until next time.