Like most people, I want to find that person who will understand me and all my weirdness. I know I already wrote about why I’m not weird and I stand by that statement. I’m super normal. Please tell me all these things I do or feel are normal. (Do not read if you’re squeamish.)
1. I love farting.
And I love pooping too. But I find passing gas much more fun. I love a specific kind of fart—the loud, usually odorless kind that you unleash in the morning. It starts my morning right. My day is not complete if I don’t fart that fart.
I also love hearing other people fart loudly. I especially like it when I hear it in the women’s restroom. Like, you’re in your cubicle, finally relieving your tiny bladder, and then coming from the next door you hear a loud fart. It makes me feel connected to womankind, hearing other women’s farts. It’s glorious. It tells us that when it comes right down to the essentials, we’re all humans, and we all need to fart. Anne Curtis farts. Marilyn Monroe farted. Even Kate Middleton farts. And I bet my bottom dollar that she farted a lot when she was carrying Prince George.
I dream of the day when farting becomes socially acceptable, not the nuclear smelling ones of course, but the loud ones that I like. It can be some weird cultural thing like slurping ramen noodles in Japan or burping which some cultures find okay. Let’s make it happen, Oprah and Dr. Oz.
2. I love getting my period.
One more bodily function that I appreciate is menstruation. Contrary to popular belief, not all women go crazy during their periods. I feel like I’m actually more pleasant during those days. I have more energy, I walk more and I’m excited to work out compared to regular days.
Luckily, I rarely experience dysmenorrhea. And when I do, a single pill or capsule of painkiller does the trick. Other girls don’t have it so great. Some of them can’t even stand because of how much pain they’re in. If that’s the case, I would totally understand if they get really bitchy.
It’s actually the week before my period that I get annoying. I’m emotional for no reason. I get pissed at the most trivial things. I’m super lazy and I eat a lot. I bet it’s the hormones. It’s always the hormones. If there are any doctors out there, please verify if this is the normal cycle of things.
3. When I was in high school, I diagnosed myself with breast cancer.
And told all my friends about it.
Can you imagine a fifteen-year-old girl telling her friends that she has breast cancer?! It’s hilarious looking back, but at the time we were all devastated. Everyone’s crying and the girls were all hugging. Then everyone had some sort of testimony of how they really felt about each other. Some said they’ve been feeling like an outsider within the group. Lots of sorry’s and I love you’s were said. All those drama. It was so stupid and beautiful. For a few hours, the world stopped and we had our moment.
In my defense, I read a lot of Reader’s Digest those days. It was my version of WebMD. And you know these things; they make you feel like you have all sorts of diseases. That’s what happened to me. Breast cancer kept popping up in the articles I was reading and I have deluded myself that I felt lumps in my breasts and these were tumors. That was it. That was my basis for everything.
I was scared that I would not be able to enter college because of my “breast cancer”—that I would fail my physical exam. But all the results came out normal. I didn’t have cancer. I just suffered from hallucinations from time to time.
4. I’m a violent drunk.
I’m prone to slapping, biting, kicking and fly-kicking my friends when I reach a certain level of intoxication. I’m not proud of it. It’s not cute. And my friends have wanted to stab me during these moments. Sorry, friends.
5. When I was a kid, I scratched my skin off with my nails because I was so pissed.
It’s a rite of passage in our family to be teased until you cry. My aunts, trained hecklers that they are, will target one of us kids at random whenever we got together. It was psychological warfare.
I was an easy target because I cry easily and I don’t answer back. But there was one time I decided that I was not going to cry. Not today. I won’t give them the satisfaction. It will be my personal victory.
What I did was, when they were teasing me, I scratched the inside of my wrist and focused on the physical pain instead of the emotional one. I managed to claw to the underside of my epidermis. You know, the pink-colored skin that’s exposed when you get an abrasion?
But my aunts did not stop. And I realized it’s because they did not see what I was doing. So I started scratching the side of my eye, near my temple instead. I was slowly skinning myself. It hurt like hell but I kept at it. After a few minutes, my mom finally noticed what I was doing and put a stop to it. I was such a spiteful kid.
But I did not cry. I DID NOT CRY. I had a noticeable scar on my face for an entire week but I didn’t care. I won those battle scars through self-inflicted torture. And it served as a reminder to my aunts not to mess with me. It was only good for a month though. They were back to teasing me after that.
6. I’m friends with my ex(es).
Well, I don’t really talk to my previous boyfriend. I’m not mad at him or vice versa. We didn’t end the relationship on a sour note. I think that relationship ended in as good terms as could’ve been possible. The reason we don’t talk to each other is because we shouldn’t. But if we take the “shouldn’t” part out of the situation, I believe we could’ve been friends.
I do talk to my first boyfriend. He’s actually one of my closest friends. We still hang out. We watch movies and concerts. We travel. Needless to say, we don’t do these things just the two of us. But some of our friends still find it strange.
We recently had a discussion if we should be worried of what people think—if there’s any merit to what they’re saying. Is there really only one route an ex-couple could take, the one where they don’t talk to each other? It seems that popular culture is perpetuating that if ex-couples are friends, the end result is always getting back together. This is the subtext of the people who say that our relationship is weird.
I want to justify myself but most people have already made up their minds anyway. I’m just made to feel like my justification is short of admitting that they’re right.
I guess that’s how truly weird things are. You want people to understand. You want people to accept that there are other truths aside from their own. You want someone to say that you’re okay. That’s why I’m annoyed at some people who say they’re weird. Because they say it with the confidence of someone who hasn’t been an outcast.