Silver Medalist.

Dearest Reader,

Perhaps the most curious attribute I have, which I often ponder about, is being a silver medalist. No, I don’t mean studies or work, for those areas of my life I’ve often achieved and excelled, but I do mean this for one particular area of my life: relationships. But before you make any assumptions – which is the lowest form of communication – let me start by mentioning that this is not limited to that of girls. I mean it for every relationship.

Being a silver medalist in relationships has had its toll on me. It’s begun to make me question how worthwhile I really am. Walking down the street, you see people often walking with other people, talking, laughing, and having a wonderful time. But here I am, walking in my own shadow, enjoying the little pleasures of life. What is it about these people that make them different? I don’t know.

What’s more confusing is that in most cases, and especially when new aquaintances meet me, people often compliment me on the way I present myself. They compliment me in my confidence, in my rapport building and in the way I carry myself. But, more often than not, in the same quick way I create these connections, I also lose them. People don’t stick, despite them apparently saying I am ‘one of a kind’ or ‘unique’, and I’ve learnt to live with that.

If I may sulk in a string of words, I’m exhausted. I’m exhausted primarily because I don’t understand. Friends want a person that is loyal and kind – traits that I cherish myself – and yet they don’t choose me, and ladies want honesty and love – more traits that I cherish myself – and yet they seem to always choose another. It’s frustrating that I have never felt how it is to be a gold medalist, a person who has won a person over purely because they see me as ‘the winner’, and I’m curious as to when I will have the privilege. Until then, however, I’m stuck in this predicament of choice: to build up a wall to protect myself from being hurt from being the constant silver and feel fine, or to continue this insanity which causes me to commonly feel a sense of melancholy by being second best – to be the alternative or backup.

I have no clue.



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