It isn’t that I don’t feel disappointed or mad or whatever – it is that I choose not to show it. Most of the time.
Other times, though, I just want to, for lack of a better term, let it rip.
I was not always like this – I used to always choose the calm, shielded exterior over me hulking out, even if I had every right to throw vases and get into shouting matches. I believed that my choice was the high road, and people would appreciate my restraint.
But then college came, and my world was opened to the thought of protest. It was a matter of common sense – if you do not show how you feel, how will anybody know? I protested pretty vocally on the big issues – funding, school politics, social issues. It came to a point where if you didn’t know where I stood, it was either I wasn’t sure myself or you were sleeping under a rock.
The small issues, however, were a different problem entirely. I suck it up a lot – I have learned to live with most of life’s inconveniences armed with a smile and an “oh well.” I learned to work around my problems. Then one day I realized I didn’t have to budge all the time. I didn’t have to get steamrolled into a position I never wanted to be in. Hell, I didn’t have to live with the short stick, damn it.