Although I don't give much faith that any of my friends really know who I am. This includes everyone, best friend no exception. Because I'm simply a very private person who doesn't say much about myself. Sure, I'll rant about current news and what's bothering me, but I rarely tell people things that can be significant, but also insignificant at the same time.
I mention the second paragraph (as I skew off the subject of this post) because when I mentioned my little "How Well Do You Know Anita Truong?" quiz on Facebook, no one seemed too ecstatic about taking it except for my classmates who barely know me and who wouldn't be able to get a high score even if they tried. One of them got an eighty percent because she cheated and already knew the answers to a lot of them. And because I gave away a couple freebies.
Yea, my closest friend almost seemed like she was struggling to know the answers to my quiz questions, so instead of making her feel uncomfortable, I smoothly transitioned with: "Well, one of the questions was, 'What is my favorite movie?'...
Of course, I guess I could have gone and thrown in questions that my closest friends would be more likely to answer correctly, but what fun would that be? I could have asked questions like: "How many brothers do I have?" or "True or False: I graduated valedictorian in high school." or "At what age did I first drink alcohol?" and stuff like that that all of my closest friends would know. Of course, the answer to that last one is a mystery even to me, because even though I never truly started drinking alcohol knowingly until I was twenty-one, I also remember having a sip of my father's beer when I was a little girl and feeling revolted by it. How old was I when that happened? I really can't remember. But the penultimate answer, as far as anyone else knows, is twenty-one.
The fact of the matter is still that, a lot of people don't really know the real me. Some people learn aspects about me pretty quickly because I present that aspect openly. A lot of people, close friends included, don't know that I'm always listening to corny music in three different languages; that I love to write romantic comedies with specific plots and specific types of characters that aren't really that popular; that I love to read amateur romantic comedy stories on Fictionpress.com about young adults; that I am an avid and obsessed fan of the shoujo genre of manga because of all the fluffy and romantic, chicken soup for the hopeless romantic's soul type of stories with a tinge of comedy; that fall for guys easily and still do, but continue to play off the fact that I'm a future spinster in the making; that I'm completely clueless about life, about love, about relationships, about friendships, and about everything, and yet I'm really good at acting like I know what you're talking about; that the only reason I keep claiming that I don't need a boyfriend is still because of my low self-esteem and the fact that no one finds me interesting enough to ask me out, and just because I acted like an ass once towards a guy who could have been a great boyfriend doesn't mean that I'll do the same to every other guy.
I mean, while I'm on this second detoured rant: I am twenty-five years old and I've never dated in my entire life. I don't know how it works; I don't know how the relationship, boyfriend-girlfriend thing works, and I sure as hell don't know what I'm supposed to do or how I'm supposed to react. My hormones are behind my own age and I'm still stuck in the times when, if a guy was interested, he'd try to chase you, he'd ask you out, and he'd do what he can to let you know that he's interested, or even tell you that he's interested. For me, NO ONE MAN has ever told me that he was interested in me.
I mean, is it really my responsibility to make sure that if I go on a blind date that I have to call him, and I have to show, with signs and flashing neon lights, that I'm interested. I show my feelings and emotions much different than every other girl on this planet. I don't know how to flirt, I don't know how to talk to people, and I'm just clueless. But after only one phone conversation, it was already decided that I wasn't interested.
Well, just like the darned movie, maybe he just wasn't that into me.
My friends know that I'm a clueless romantic. I can see it happening in the movies and to other people, but when it's me, it goes right over my head. And I don't want to read the signs all wrong and make a fool of myself. I've asked a guy out before and after the so called lunch "date" was told that he wasn't interested in me. I haven't seen him since.
I spent time over a year flirting with a guy over the internet in private, even though I knew he had a girlfriend, was a friend of my brothers, and I wouldn't have a chance if hell froze over; and then he threw it all back in my face when he claimed that I was the one who did all the flirting and that he was merely responding. And so gave the idea of "flirting" the boot to the curb and decided that I would never do it again unless I really liked someone and knew I'd have a chance.
And then I spent a year crushing on another guy who was not good for me only to have my closest friend ask him about me during one drunken party just to find out for me that he's not interested, of which I had already known. I had a crush on a gay friend, I had a crush on many jerks, and eventually I fell for the guy who was my blind date to begin with, of which everyone tells me that I blew off and so lost my chance.
While I admit that I hadn't been attracted to him at first, that doesn't mean that I wasn't interested, and I sure as hell hadn't blown him off. And if I did, I don't know how I had done it. I really do like him now and I know it's my own fault that it hadn't worked out. But the fact of the matter was, we had spent a total of two times doing stuff that seemed related to dating: we went out bowling with friends as the meeting, and then he called and we talked for a while. After that... well, nothing.
I'm dense when it comes to talking to people, and I just think he wasn't really that intereted in me in the first place to give up so easily.
Then again, I don't know how this stuff works anyway.
But getting back on track after two detours, today's post was really supposed to be about me ranting about how my parents never remember anything that I tell them, but will always remember everything that my brothers have to do without them having to tell them. It's also about how my parents still don't know my likes and dislikes after so many years of living under the same roof together. That just goes to show that just because you're family doesn't mean that you know better than other people.
My mother will remember when my older brother comes in from his most recent business trip down to the exact time; they'll remember tennis games for my little brother, and they remember when my other brother has to work and when he gets off work and what days he has off. They remember a lot of that stuff.
I go to school Monday through Thursday at eight o'clock in the morning, each of those days. I usually work on weekends during the evening. I will even tell my parents that same exact week what my schedule looks like and which days I work and which days I don't work. I will tell them about parties that I'm going to on certain days. But on Friday mornings, it does not fail: "Anita, you don't have school today?" "Anita, you don't work today?"
And they will also rememember when my brothers have their own parties to go to. Well, when I inform them ahead of time that I have one too, they seem to conveniently forget.
They have always known that my younger brother prefers egg noodles over rice noodles, but conveniently forget that I prefer rice noodles over egg noodles and claim that I've always eaten egg noodles when clearly I've always ordered the rice noodle dishes when we go out to lunch. My parents know that my elder brother cannot stand heat and so the air conditioning comes on in full blast. They know my brother's friends without effort, and they know what kind of cakes and ice creams that they prefer.
For me: my parents have never made an effort to get to know my friends. When my older brother had a birthday, his friends had been invited over, everyone says happy birthday to him, everyone knows its his birthday. We all sit around the kitchen table and do all the birthday stuff and my parents are social with my brother's friends. The very next day when my birthday rolls around and my best friend comes to hang out with me, everyone hides. My father stays in his bedroom clicking around on the internet, my brother's remain down in the basement playing their video games, and so it's just me, my best friend, and then my mother singing happy birthday to me and cutting the cake with me and taking pictures.
I'd be lying that that day hadn't upset me. I even fel compelled to apologize to my best friend for my father's behavior, for the rest of my family's act of staying away. I expressed to her that I was upset that none of my family felt that my birthday was important enough to spend with me for a few minutes by cutting the cake. And that just because I have a friend over doesn't mean that everyone can act like assholes.
I was upset that time. I really was.
My parents know about the dates and girlfriends that my elder brother has had. My parents have been kind to all of my older brother's friends. But I don't invite my friends over anymore because my parents are rude to them by hiding.
On average, I probably talk to my parents in civil conversation more often than my brothers do. On average, I probably do special things for my parents more than my brothers do. Sure, the older brother paid for a new flat screen with a TV stand and everything to go with it. Sure, the older brother takes them out to eat often. But every year, I'm the one who buys Christmas cards, birthday cards, Father's Day cards, Mother's Day cards... all of it, and then I sign all of their names because they're too busy to bother with it.
You know... I think by now, I'm done with it all. After this year, I'm done. No more cards will be bought. My mother's birthday will be the last and then I'm done. I'm tired of being the considerate one, yet no one will be considerate towards me. I mean, I suggest hanging out and going out to eat. But my brothers are so wrapped up in their games and their sleeping, and their own fun and their own convenience that we often don't leave for dinner in time to make it to nice places and have to settle for what's left. My brother's spend my parents money endlessly like they have a right, but when I do it once, everyone jumps on my case.
I'm tired of being the one overlooked.
My parents don't seem to know me. My parents don't understand me, and they sure as hell don't seem like they're going to make an effort either.
It's like they have selective hearing or something, but it's a tad annoying.
But anyway, this post has gotten longer and more whiny than I'd expected. I really hadn't intended to become the spoiled and dramatic "woe is me" character that I despise so much. I apologize to anyone who's gotten this far in the post because you've put up with a lot already. I can be very whiney when I get started, and for all I know, it's probably not as bad as my state of mind is making it sound right now. I mean, maybe I just need to build a bridge and get over it, because my life doesn't suck and I have no rights to complain to anyone at all. I have no rights to complain period. I'm just a whiny baby and I'll learn to get over it, because there's no other way.
And I have to leave for work in the next seven minutes. So well, if I decide to rant again, I guess it'll be part two.
Today I get to soak myself in cigar smoke. I'll be crankier and have a bigger headache than usual.
