‘Man is a social Animal’… as sexist as it sounds in this millennial era, this statement is indefinitely applicable for human beings. Most of our lives are spent in attempting to make people happy with endless efforts and perhaps a grain of gratification. In our young days, we end up doing this the most. The social stigma that makes us do such things sometimes ends up deteriorating our childhood, which is mostly just spent trying to attain popular appreciation. Having been a voluntary party to such actions, I have a very strange story to narrate. So, loosen your seatbelts and let go of whatever you are grabbing on to because things are not going to be exciting.
The social world has made it kind of imperative for all of us to have friends. Everyone does. I feel blessed that there are people in the world who can tolerate me. Nevertheless, it hasn’t always been the same. Therefore, this segment is for all the pariah strugglers out there.
I was a strange kid. I still don’t know why. Well, of course, some aspects of mine fit perfectly under the ‘taboo’ category, for example, my garrulousness, my weight, but most importantly my stories. Yes, that is the strangest strange part of it all. When I was just about to enter my double-digit age, I was circumstantially rendered friendless. Back in school, we are somewhat obliged to be part of some kind of group, aren’t we? Today we call it ‘squad’. Back then, the cool word was ‘Gang’. And I never had one. Initially, I presumed nobody liked me. Eventually, I found, I was right. ‘But why?’ I think every now and then. Why was everyone around me enjoying in some secrecy kept isolated from me? I didn’t know back then… but one day it hit me. It was my stories.
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