Maybe I’ve read too many novels, watched too many films, lived too many lives. I do not know. But sometimes I laugh at the thoughts that live inside my head. The self-narrative of my words floating about unable to reach surface. Why? You may ask, do I not simply speak? That would not do. I have never been shy. Yet people always assumed I was. I can remember (and with this memory it will be your turn to laugh) when I was young, playing with a friend. We were pop stars and appearing on TRL (yes TRL. Total request live for those of you youngsters out there. ;)). I was having fun being myself. When my friend (more of the mean girl type and me too of my own mind/being to really be affected) said “you would never act like this!” I scoffed because I knew I would. I have always defended myself on the terms of “quiet one”. I even went through a phase where I was loud and goofy because that way I got noticed. That way my personality, a more cartoony, caricature, would be recognized and I would never be accused of being fake again. Only it back fired on me. I was being fake in a way. Now the stigma of “comic relief” plagued and would plague me. Never to be taken seriously or properly represented for who she is. I have always know myself yet had the problem of being recognized for it. And, as is human nature I would struggle many a teenage year to perfect its representation but end up conforming to the person these around me needed and thought I was.
When my pirate name came out (an online test answered over me) wimpery dormate or some such vulgarity. I was hurt. Mad. I thought if they could only see who I am with myself. Who I am as a writer/performer, a fighter and choreographer…
Alas yee matey, I am still there today. I have just become more comfortable with my narrative. As if some unknown being was reading my thoughts like a Bronte novel: “The silence surrounded us…should I speak? If I did they would not be my words. Just simple niceties that go no where and mean nothing. As susceptible to the wind as a dead leaf in fall. If I were to speak truly they would be surprised. Not a placid, passive being am I, but passionate and true. What would they do with the words? The mix of provocative, thoughtful, meaningful yet frivolous and funny all at once. When I get talking about what my heart speaks, about what comes so naturally I am unstoppable. I run the gamut of emotions, verbs and nouns! Yet I dare not speak. For I never once spoke, abusing my private world, to fill the air. I need attention and interest. I need conversation and debate! Words to me are a precious thing. I make my living on words. I know their power and their strength, their fire and their comfort. I do not give them freely. They will not mulch and fester on the ground with the others. No, I smile and nod. A quite one…no…I am loud and alive inside. You are the one who is quite for your words don’t speak they just make noise.”
See what I mean?
It is amazing the life I lead, have led. Would it be surprising? Will I seem like a stranger when someone brings the dialog out. “You would never act like that!” What an accusation. How would I act pray? Through my characters you find me. I walk a lonley road…Through them I find common ground.
When writing I am me. When fighting I am me, stunting, dancing, acting, singing, or just cursing at my hair for doing that woo-woo thing. I am there. Yet I do not perform any more to strangers…strangers of my mind. I do not talk about myself without true intrigue or interest from another. Why waste the energy on being misinterpreted, unheard or ignored? I’ve learned to distinguish false from true. I no longer need others to pay me mind, personality, body or blood. I am me. The quite one…HA! I am the loudest of the pack…if you would only listen.