The anonymous commenter

I was reading an old blog entry today - well, I always read my old blog entries, mostly to just look back at how foolish I can be, but this time I was reading back to stop myself from repeating myself. (I know I said "myself" write in that sentence fragment. Did I just repeat myself?) I know, I tend to write about the same things over and over again, and lately I've been a bit paranoid about whether I've succeeded in finding a fresh approach to stale topics, or if I'm just relying on synonyms.

Anyway, that old blog entry, I wrote it a year and a half ago, and it was about how people seem to hate negativity. Judging from how I wrote it, I was pretty passionate about it, because I ended up writing it as a letter to myself, from a hypothetical someone who's had enough of my complaining. So passionate, in fact, that I ended up pulling stuff from, you know, the things I often complain about. This being seven months before I got myself into a relationship, it ended up being my constant loneliness.

I don't want to sound like that writer who finds himself explaining the way he writes, but, well, here I am. That really was just a critique of how people are being achingly positive nowadays. I hate that. Specifically, I hate the lack of balance. And I decided to write about it by playing up that perceived fault of mine - my never-ending cynicism. I mean, even up to now, when things are, on the surface, supposedly going well, I am still cynical. I don't think it drags me down; I think it keeps me on my toes. I mean, okay, sure, when things get terrible it does drag me down, but on most days it keeps me on my toes.

Err, why am I defending myself? What happened to being yourself? Nobody follows that, eh?

I was gonna write about that again, in the context of people wanting all the ranters to shut up, because of Yolanda and how we all need to be united and all that. So I read back on what I wrote before. And I saw this anonymous comment, and I remembered laughing it off, at least initially. I laughed it off because, I thought, clearly this guy did not understand what I was trying to do.

You know what? There's nothing wrong with speaking your mind. What's wrong is thinking (and expecting) people to have the same opinion as you. People respect the two cents you seem to have for everything. Believe it because if they don't, you probably don't have anyone following you on Twitter or reading your write ups online.

Society isn't asking you to stop having negative thoughts nor it is asking you to repress them. It is merely SUGGESTING for you to consider the positive things every situation gives you. Did it seem like people were avoiding you just because their trip to Bora came days later than yours? Did it ever occur to you when you were there that YOU WERE THERE? No? Well, no surprise there.

People are trying to help you. Some give up, some don't but it looks like you always choose to focus your attention to those who do and that is the reason why you don't have enough friends.

I mean... I don't know where to start. Of course I don't expect people to share my opinion. It's inherent in me. It's my cynicism working. I know I rant about things and I know I won't convert everyone and I don't aim to convert anyone because we are more intelligent than that.

Do I not consider the positive? Maybe I have not been balanced that way. Maybe I do focus too much on the negative. But then again, I don't want to be the guy who's dripping to the seams with happiness. You don't want to be that person. If you're that person, then you're very likely putting a mask on.

And where did that Boracay reference come from? I don't really like the beach. I never really went out with friends and, yes, I lamented that sometimes, but sometimes I don't really mind, and not being invited to go to the beach falls in the latter category because, well, beaches are meh. (Yes, I know I wrote this blog entry weeks after writing this one, about me failing to meet Kimmy when we both happened to be in Boracay. But we were not there for pleasure. I was there for a seminar; she and a bunch of others were there for an event.)

But that last statement... that last statement reads like my mother.

She always tells me - even up to now - that I don't have friends because I am, essentially, a repulsive person who is not willing to change for others. (My defense, even up to now: am I the only one who has to change? Why am I the only one who has to change?) I hate that. I hate being told that I am not trying to do anything to make things better for me. I hate being told that I am expecting everybody else to adjust to my attitude, to my worldview, to my perspective. I hate being told that I am this hopeless son of a bitch who will forever be alone.

Maybe it's the American-style bluntness, but that's when I felt my stomach twist. I remember going, "who is this person?" because this can't be just anyone I don't know. This person went deeper than he should. This person knows me, and this person is annoyed at me, and... okay, I am being negative, because I almost wrote "this person hates me". I remember this comment bothering me a bit, partly because he did not see what I was trying to do, but mostly because he said something painfully close to home.

Now I'm reading that comment again, and I felt my stomach twist again. For a minute before writing this, I wondered who could this person be. Why this person - okay, I'll say it - why this person hates me so much. What? I'm the writer here. And I know this is all hitting too close to home.

On the other hand, the second comment on that blog entry came from Rainy. One of her first comments. She was a new-ish visitor to my blog then...

And your responses...

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