From my earliest memories, the world seemed sorrowful. I would observe other children effortlessly forming pairs, having fun, exchanging snacks, sharing secrets in hushed tones. My attempts to join them, yearning for connection, were met with dismissal or outright exclusion. There was this particular child who possessed an effortless charm, admired for his bright smile. I mimicked his smile, hoping to garner a fraction of his acceptance, but everyone would show expressions twisted in disgust, muttering, "Eww" as if I were invisible. The sting was sharp, yet a fragile hope lingered within me, a hope that perhaps things might change. As I aged, the rejection became more pronounced, its edges sharper. Puberty struck like a relentless storm, warping my already asymmetrical features while my peers blossomed gracefully. That same charming child from my younger years now received admiring glances and shy smiles from our classmates. I craved even a single look of affection, but was instead met with sneers and sideways glances. "Don’t stand so close," a girl once hissed at a school dance, her eyes anxiously, fearful of being seen with me. That night, the echo of rejection drowned out the dance music as I wept alone in the bathroom. High school refined the cruelty of social dynamics to a razor-sharp point. Every attempt at connection was met with cold shoulders and mocking laughter. "Imagine thinking he had a chance with her," I once overheard, at a party I attended uninvited in a desperate bid for inclusion. No miracles unfolded; only the deepening of a loneliness so acute it seemed to compress my chest. Now the pattern has only cemented further. College brought new settings, yet the familiar dance of rejection continued. I watched classmates from afar as they embarked on dates, shared tales of relationships, while I remained a distant observer.
