Playmoss uses cookies. By using our services, you're agreeing to our Cookie Policy.

Get extra points

You seem to like this playlist. Share it using the “Share” button and get 300 extra points.

FUN A DAY 2019 #15: Cameron

[CN: parent death; grief] // She was chronically late because she preferred to slip in quietly wherever she was expected, and hope that her entrance would go unnoticed. Because when people did more...

[CN: parent death; grief]
She was chronically late because she preferred to slip in quietly wherever she was expected, and hope that her entrance would go unnoticed. Because when people did notice her, they seemed to become unable to take their eyes off of her. She assumed that it was her height, her ‘weird face’ with its sharp cheekbones, long nose, and blue green eyes, her oversized, sometimes dingy, always androgynous clothes that skewed masculine on her long, slender frame. She wasn’t exactly wrong, people did notice these things about her, had been noticing them and gawking since she was a teenager. She didn’t realize that more often than not, as she got older, people looked at her because they were struck slightly dumb by presence, by her apparent beauty, and her contradictory lack of prettiness, her refusal to look girly or accessible in any way.
It was easy to be enthralled by her, by her face, by the economy of her brusque body language, by the impassioned and uncompromising way she talked about computers and coding and what mattered to her as an engineer; she would never really understand this, and found it baffling when people responded to her in a somewhat positive way. She wasn’t warm or inviting or approachable, she was skittish, seemingly always vibrating with nervous, slightly suspicious energy. She was brilliant, but her belief in her own genius wasn’t vanity or arrogance, it was how she survived, the tool she used to desperately try to carve out some kind of niche in this world for herself. She was guileless, in some ways, and very much unable to coax or flatter in the way that women were expected to, but she also wasn’t above using her very real social ineptitude and inability to just ‘be normal’ to convince people to follow her. Even when she let people be swayed by her conviction and her slightly self-righteous grandstanding, it wasn’t a front. That was what people seemed to misunderstand about her: that none of it was a front. There was no false modesty in her dress or relationship to her body or looks, no calculation in her standoffishness, no self-aware agenda behind her defiance or resistance to corporate assimilation. All of it was real, all of it was her genuine strangeness, her real alienation, grief, and rage that existed no matter what she wore or what she did. Few people recognized this, were able to imagine how ridiculous and painful it would be for her to try to force herself to look and be more conventional, to pretend that she might be the kind of woman who might belong somewhere, someday.
There had been a few people who had figured her out that way. With them, she hadn’t opened up so much as she had sighed with relief, stopped being a tirelessly pioneering genius, and sort of folded in on herself, and shrunk back down to the size she had felt on the day the casualty notification officer came to their house to tell them what had happened to her father. It felt like that was who she really was, and that was where she was, part of her was still waiting for her dad to come home, and for their family to go back to normal. She knew how profoundly sad that was, especially compared to what people saw when they looked at her, but she also knew that there wasn’t anything she could do to change it. It was all she could do to let people actually see her that way; she wanted very much to be known, and accepted, and loved. But she was painfully aware that not everyone would be up to the task.
IMAGE VIA: ...less

A playlist by
7 tracks
  • 21min
  • 64
  • One year ago