“Guess what? I just had my first kiss with my boyfriend.”
Shrieking, squealing and rejoicing hysterically. Choose whichever you will. The rest of the girls were jumping in tumultuous motion. Interrogating her elaborately. Since she just started dating for one month. Except one, however.
“Our last weekend date was so romantic! He made me sweet blueberry pancakes for our breakfast.”
For once again, and then another one. Their rookery muted my lips. Not because of what you call jealousy. Not even a tiny shred. Utterly out of words since I do not have any story to catch up with them. Left me grinning awkwardly.
“Oh my, oh my. You guys are so yesterday. Been doing that for years already.”
This time they threw her with the cushion pillows. Yammering on her haughty attitude with a splash of giggles. Omitted me at the hindmost lane of their rat race, since I never deem that way. That is ridiculous.
“Anyway, should we watch Love, Rosie for tonight?”
Then there was this one girl who always aborts the mission. When they are this excited to watch that lovey-dovey thing, allegedly. Simply because oddly she does not watch such things like typical girls do.
What if I told you I am that one girl. What if I told you being surrounded by boisterous girls makes me ill, sometimes. Underline that. Increasing this feeling of riddance. Being out of place. Being an outsider. It was nothing new, you see. Been there, done that. This one was nothing serious since I have been in something insufferable before.
Picked my keys up, stuffed my belongings into the backpack and tied up my shoelaces. Solely a brief goodbye, left their house. I walked down the stairs while hiding under my grey headphones. Increasing the volume till deafen my ears. Unlocked my bike chains and started pedaling my bicycle.
But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here.
This song again. Amidst the total of 244 songs in my crippled cellphone. Wondering if this is enough to be a light sickness excuse. Believing that perhaps because of my phone is that old already. A common vibration felt on my right hip so sudden. Thank goodness I stood still in front of the gleaming red traffic light, currently. It was mom blabbering in my family group chat, as usual. She is a forever chatterbox, you see. Perhaps more like a compulsive talker. Not that I mind, mind you. I had this abrupt glimpse of an urge to call her right after I am home. Since I had these unsupposed depressive days lately, overwhelmed by sorrow.
“It’s your goddamn life. Think about it yourself. You take care of your own life, not my effin’ business.”
Completely astonished. I do not remember speaking harshly, nor telling her that I recently bought a pair of new shoes not with my own earnings. Slightly telling my confusion and sadness was what I did. A simplified and straightforward one to top that off. I immediately disconnected the phone call and lied down on my bed. Gazing the ceilings blank. Again, I had this abrupt glimpse of regret on my own decision to go home this summer.
This feeling of riddance, again, spread even bigger. Pondering about the days I obstinately escaped to here. Simply because sometimes I feel like an outsider in my home country, but, who do I have left in this world? Where do I truly belong?
Perhaps, I truly am a mere Doppelgänger.
Maybe, I solely am a Jane Doe.
Illustration is The Outsider by Albert Camus.
Lyrics are from Creep by Radiohead.