Agitated

Well that's me, apparently. Easily agitated. Sensitive. Mild tempered. Or at least, in the eyes of the people around me, that's what I like.

I'm not always like that though, at least not when I was a child. I had serious parents, grew up in a pretty strict environment and I've always been an obedient little lad. Because obedience means zero punishment. Sometimes it's rewarding. And to be frank, I was scared of punishments back then. Usually, as they say, as everybody says, a child raised under high expectations will grow up to be a rebel or a coward. I think I'm the latter. Often unsure. Often belittling myself on heights that I can't achieve. And what will I do if I found myself in exceptionally frustrating circumstances? That's right -- I take it out on the petty little things, little insignificant details that seemed to agitate no one but me. My sister pointed out to me though, my nasty urge to scoff at harmless imperfections I've set my eyes upon.

I reprimanded Sherlock for its extremely underwhelming ending. I hurled insults to TV and radio shows for being so pretentious (and sometimes revolting). I chastised online posts and pictures for their stupidity. The list simply goes on. I'm all butt-hurt from unintentional comments and critiques made by my friends. Thanks to the environment I was brought up in, I can't take much pleasure from things around me. A lot of things could set me off, even minor defects, unnoticeable flaws.

I've made no secret of my disdain towards pretentious douche-bags and flaunty, conspicuous individuals. But little do I know, I'm no different from any other pretentious little men. I put up a great show to those who I want to impress (and especially to strangers and people I'm not really fond of) and the next moment I'll be talking behind their backs. Back-stabbing, if the audience were keen enough to join the fun. I've always called out that dear fr-enemy of mine, Kong, for his flashy, douche-y behavior which made everybody miserable, but whenever I'm within his vicinity, I'm all smiles. There's a neighbor (a hostel neighbor) called Lee, whom I've always criticized too, behind his back all the time. And the next moment when he's around, we're like bros. There's something very unsettling for hypocrites though. We'll have an inevitable feeling that everybody is just as pretentious as we are, and the next moment we're out of sight, we'll be despised the same way as we despise others. We revel in criticism but we fear of being criticized. Some of my friends who were particularly blissful and simple in nature associated my self-depreciating behavior and easily-offended nature to my extremely self-conscious character and exceptionally low self-esteem. It's half-true, at most. Though I don't want to admit it, these sensitive nerves of mine are the ghostly hauntings of my hypocritical nature.

It feels so damn good to let it off my chest, of who I really am, of the flaws of my life. I'm not perfect. I know there's someone out there, who really thinks I'm a great goody-goody scholar (though nerdy), who has his path laid out for the rest of his perfect little life. If there's the least I've learnt, there's a story to every single soul out there, pure or stained alike. And again, I'm not perfect. We're all not perfect.