I always saw myself as a tough guy.
Despite my apparent choice of preference, I get a lot of compliments from the people around me with regards to being brave and confident when it comes to dire situations. Being tough, for me, wasn’t just a scale of physical strength. I believed, that acknowledging the fear that we all have, and confronting them had to be my measure of courage. Brute force was not my thing. And neither was harboring fear towards others.
Growing up and having to settle on different places – meeting different kinds of people, making good friends, and getting the attention of some bad guys along the way, somehow added to my learning experience that the world is more of a jungle, rather than the paradise it was once known to be. I had to teach myself how to be “street-wise”, and how to mingle with the people outside my comfort zone.
People saw my independent side – the guy who always had his planner handy, ticking off all the activities he was able to accomplish; the guy who never settled for Plan B; the guy who would try to reason out his way with things, as long as he know he’s right and that it’s his right to do so; the guy who never forgets to ask for His Guidance.
But for all you know, I have somehow resented this “resilience” of mine. I feel as if nobody bothers to ask for me, for how I actually am. That no one really understood. That no one has connected to me in away that I was hoping for a very long time.
And despite this epitome of strength that I wield, underneath it is a scared little boy, who longs to be heard.