You don’t know me.
You don’t know my passions, my dreams, my fears, and my faults.
You don’t know how many times chills have run down my spine whenever I would hear Led Zeppelin’s Since I’ve Been Loving You at MSG, 1973, or the times I stay still whenever I would listen to a symphony play Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor.
You don’t know how much effort I have put when I would play the guitar on my own without a guitar teacher, all the while my academic performance has always been mediocre at best, and I did it because I loved the tunes that I am capable of producing with the guitar, I loved the sensation of having my calloused fingers glide across the strings, the pounding, lifting, fast-paced rhythm that would get me rushing… it was through it that I was able to listen to the other voices within me that I have been suppressing throughout my life, and that in life, it was alright to feel these diverse emotions. I never really appreciated a bubbly pop song that dwells on happiness. I was more into mellow songs with bittersweet themes, and I believe that my life is somewhat like that. These changing themes are possible because without these elements, you could not produce a song that would be meaningful. Same goes with life.
You don’t know that I indulge myself in the arts, and would rather pursue humanities than the program that I am taking up, if I were well off in the first place. I have learned to love this program, yes, and perhaps in the long run I would thank myself for staying in it, but like Prince Rhaegar, I was torn between my Elia and my Lyanna–my duty to myself, or the passion that I possess. At times I would like to leave everything behind, and just cloister myself away from the world in hopes of regaining the energy that I had lost and the flame that had been slightly extinguished. But I’m not brave nor am I that brazen to do so. I fear for my despair in the future for when I have no money at my disposal. I’m certain that everyone is. Love is not all you need. Love can’t pay the bills. Love can’t afford such a lavish lifestyle. Love involves contentment, something that I have yet to master.
You don’t know how many times I have watched 10 Things I Hate About You and smile because I see myself as Kat Stratford, and how deep down, ever since the first time I watched that movie, I’ve been wishing for my own Patrick Verona too–someone who would see me for who I am despite my silence, my moments when I could get very irritable, my sarcasm, my indifference.
You don’t know about my dreams of traveling to Europe. This was one of the reasons why I pursued my program too. I never wanted to become a doctor, and I thought that my program was easier than it looks, but it feels as if Europe becomes more attainable in the situation I am now. You don’t know that I am practically dragging myself to school everyday just so that I could pass; though I want to learn, the feeling of having to meet a deadline for understanding all this information is constricting, and I genuinely want to learn, yet I need some air too. I was never studious to begin with. I never studied seriously unless it were exams and Math. I barely passed Biology in first year high school. But because I am in this program, I became a different person. I studied more, but it was more of a life-death situation. If I don’t study, it would be the death of my college life. And I hate it. I hate having to commit to deadlines when I am dead serious over learning something. Deadlines turn it into an obligation, and I run away from obligations.
You don’t know the anxiety that I would get whenever I would log in and open his profile, and the times that I had told myself not to keep in touch with him anymore. We were best friends, but before I knew it, it just happened, and everything was beyond my control. I never told him throughout the course of our friendship, and when I did, I decided to cut ties with him. We would never return to what we once were before that, and a long distance relationship wouldn’t work out. Plus, he never saw me in that light–to him, I was just a kid, and he never forgot the fact that I was 6 years younger than he was.
These are my stories. These comprise who I am. But apparently, you see me differently, and so as with other girls. You treat me as if you know my shades, that I am an open book, and that I am a girl no different from the others. My shades are not of black and white alone; I could be an open or closed book, depending on my mood; I am not different from other girls, yes. We have our similar traits. But don’t treat me like how you usually treat them. It’s not because I perceive myself to be superior over them, but because I deserve respect as a person. And at this rate, you are not being a respectful man.
You don’t know me, so don’t confine me to this entity with whom you can resort to when your self-esteem has reached an all time low… again. Because I am more than that.