I’ve never been one to concern myself with what others say or think about me. Hey, if someone is talking about me behind me back, at least I know I’m one step ahead of them, right? I pretty much live by the motto, I am who I am. If you like it, I’m glad, but if you don’t, don’t expect me to be losing any sleep over it.
Hence, when making choices, it is not for me about whether I will make me more or less popular, instead it is about what I feel to be right for me.
The experience I am going to share is one which led to me going to high school with the nickname “Viking” (both on account of the story and my hair) and everyone pretty much left me alone throughout high school.
The Hair: Growing up, I was pretty little blonde girl with silky soft hair. The hair soon turned against me and because unruly somewhere around my 12th birthday. Just before high school I wanted to have it cut into a cute little bob – biggest mistake ever. I went to high school with an unruly mob of curls which I constantly battled to force into anything resembling any sort of style while it mocked me by becoming more curly with every morning that came to light. It is only now that I have learned the trick: there is no point in trying to control the hair – just let it be!
The Incident: for various reasons better left alone I never liked boys in the way that girls liked boys. My best friends growing up were two boys, one being our neighbor’s son and the other living three houses up. I liked them in the sense that we could make mud pies and catch a bird just to open it up and see what’s inside (murderer I hear you shout, but I was young and curious OK?). I liked them in the sense that we could climb trees and shoot kleilat and marbles. Imagine my shock when the one wanted to play Doctor Doctor one day. I scrambled when I figured it out and our friendship pretty much ended there. The incident that followed me through high school occurred just around the end of winter in our final year in primary school. It was break time and I was sitting on the pavilion overlooking the sports fields, minding my own business, when one of the boys sat down next to me. He looked at me stating, very nonchalantly, that he was going to touch my leg. I told him in no uncertain terms that I would push him off the pavilion if he even tried that. Apparently he did not take me seriously and proceeded to do just that. Well, I am a girl of my word, so he ended up on the bleak and dry Free State winter’s grass with a shattered tibia.
Needless to say, my high school career was full of taunts about “dynamite coming in small bottles”, etc. I really wasn’t fazed by it and quite frankly would not have done it different.
Being unpopular is part of who I am and I like who I am. I think there is nothing more boring that being the popular girl who every likes and wants to be and wants to be with. It must be so difficult to keep that up.
Take it from me, be comfortable with you are and don’t be ashamed to stand up and proudly speak your mind. The right people will gravitate to you and the wrong ones will pass you by. It makes life so much simpler…