Facebook should be called Facade book.
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My new mantra is *words removed*. Since when did I become an I-don’t-give-a-*** kind of guy? To me, at least, giving a *** means ultra-analyzing every situation from A to Z (then back to A and inadvertently ending up in W), a habit that for years had yielded me nothing but disastrous results. The moment I said faket was like suddenly finding my hands free to move as they please not having known they were tied behind my back all this time.
***
Lately I have been recording myself reading aloud anything from poetry to novels to history, just to familiarize myself and be comfortable with my own speaking voice.
I hate my voice. They sound like a clarinet which haven’t been played with for 8 years because the owner gave up music to become a police.
It’s been an alarming number of times now that I’ve been bewildered by an instant at dinner tables, or lunch tables, or any other social setting for chrissake, when people don’t seem to want to listen to me speak after being silent for so long. It’s as though they were genuinely not interested in me, or my voice, perhaps, has a phenomenal power to cause an exterior distraction pulling attention away from itself.
How frustrating it was, one tragic night, when, after years of reclusive self-assesment, and having finally come to terms with who I am, that is, a man of few, but razor-sharp, rock-heavy words, I decided to put my supposed newly found self-esteem to the test at a dinner table. Having spent almost two hours in silence, being comfortable, smiling confidently, listening intently to whoever it was speaking, I finally found my cue and decided to drop the bomb. Just when I started to mutter one and a half words into my sentence, somebody reached for the check, and the night was over. That’s when I decided to just read.