NYAC | 3min Read
Published on May 25, 2026
Always weird
Always weird
I always thought I was weird. Not because I looked strange or did irregular things. I just sort of felt like the puzzle piece of another jigsaw trying to fit in one that had no space for it. The problem was I never found that jigsaw I was supposed to belong in.
Sometimes I think it’s horrible to feel so utterly alone. But sometimes I feel lucky to be untethered to anyone and anything, like a balloon floating in outer space with no promise of return to Earth. Probably will die over there, but hey, at least it got away.
I always thought I was weird, because I remember being called that when I was in kindergarten. It was a regular day, waking up from nap time, when someone looked at me and said, “you’re so weird.” It wasn’t even on the basis of anything I did or something I said. I was just labelled, branded as a “weirdo.” I remember being so confused about what that word meant; I asked my mom. She said being weird is a good thing. It means you’re special. So, I deluded myself into thinking that being called weird was a compliment. I remember being called weird and saying back, “thanks.” What an idiot kid I was.
I always thought I was weird. Especially when I didn’t want to go to parties or travel the world, but would rather go to the gym or play my sport. My mom and dad thought it was discipline and resilience, but it was actually that when my physical body was aching, I couldn’t really focus on the mental part that was imprinting into my soul, like a shard of glass, inching it’s way deeper into my skin, until it once touched my soul.
I always thought I was weird.
As I grow up, I love being weird. Everyone who was fun and understanding before has just become a shell of themselves, the people I knew were kinder, compassionate. They weren’t robots. They were just themselves. My grandmother often tells me I feel a lot or I cry too, but doesn’t that mean I feel the good things a lot too? My dad thinks I am too sensitive, he is probs right, but can’t I be sensitive for the good things too?
For the things that make me smile or at least used too.
I always thought I was weird, especially when I used to cry and feel something hurting in my chest when I had everything a kid could want. Loving parents, good education, food on my plate, friends. My parents could never really understand why I was so full of sadness all the time even though I used to hide it behind a mask of happiness and laughs. My dad once told me I was ungrateful. I remember crying. So much crying.
Why couldn’t I stop crying? I felt like a broken glass cup that’s been taped up, in its original shape however when water was poured into me, I used to leak, and once I started leaking, all the tape came off. I was just lying there, as broken shards.
I always thought I was weird. But I guess that’s just me. I always felt that kids could say things to me, but I know it wouldn’t ever hit me hard because they didn’t wipe my tears or see my skin bleeding.
I am weird but that’s just how I am.
