Since I was 12 I’ve had this desire to be cool. Back when I was in middle school Abercrombie was “it”. All the cool kids wore it. I didn’t own anything from Abercrombie; the closest thing I wore that resembled “preppy” was a dark green striped long-sleeved shirt with “American Outpost” etched on the shoulders. I wanted to be one of those girls who wore and spoke “Abercrombie”, who made being cool seem effortless as flossing teeth. So I tried. And tried. And tried. I set a goal to be popular by high school. Despite my efforts, by college I was still nowhere near “cool”. In college my definition of cool was: pregame, Friday night party, bars, after party. I did experience those events (in that order) but I was not really “cool”. I lacked confidence. I didn’t look people in the eye when I spoke to them, and I made random comments thinking it would draw attention, but instead I got weird looks. Did I drink? Yes, I did. Did I bar-talk? Yes, I did. Did I have fun? No, not at all. Sometimes I would sleep until 2 pm the next day, and miss assignment deadlines. I always felt super lousy when that happened.

After a while I realized the coolest people do not conform. They are passionate about things that may not be stereotypically cool, but they embrace it. They proudly share their Star Wars memes and wear giraffe t-shirts. They don’t care what people think; they’re happy with themselves. Now that I’m comfortable with myself, I realize the “coolest things are not cool”. You can interpret that however you want :) If I’m at a party I would love to talk to somebody about Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. I had the biggest crush on the Red Ranger :) People react better when I’m authentic and not talking about how I’m “so getting trashed this weekend”.

Recently, when I was out, I had a conversation with a guy. He said he was studying to be a doctor. If I had met him back when I was a college sophomore I would have said, “Cool. So what’s your favorite drink?” That’s the reason why I never got the guys I wanted :) This time around, I asked him questions. He started telling me about medicine. I paid attention, and asked him questions. Then we started talking about hip-hop artists, and he gave me a name of an artist I needed to listen to. At one point of our conversation, Pokemon and Bowling For Soup were mentioned. Not once did “I’m so getting wasted” or “I’m not drunk enough!” escape from my lips. And I have to say I enjoyed myself WAY more than I did as a college sophomore. 

During my first years in college I was stuck in “high school mode”.  I wanted to be accepted and “cool”. I did make some wonderful, lasting friendships in college, but I wasn’t initially confident (especially on Saturday nights at P&G’s). My confidence developed during my last years in college; it was a learning experience. 

When I was 12 I learned the secret to social proficiency from a teenage self-help book: be yourself, embrace who you are. It took me around 10 years to fully understand it, but I’m grateful I finally did :). I know if I can become social, then so can anyone.  

This is from the chapter “I Dream In Abercrombie” in my memoir “Fall and Rise: My Journey to Happiness”. I thought it would tie in nicely with this post. I’m 12 years old, and entering American middle school for the very first time.

Up until that morning, I had only seen lockers on Saved By The Bell. For a brief time I was overjoyed, but after twenty minutes of fajangling with mine I wished they never made it past the telly screen. By then the hallways were empty. With my backpack over my shoulder, I scrambled to my class in Room 106 and was faced with a dilemma at the door. In China, students were supposed to knock and shout “Present” when late, but I had no idea what the policy was in Ohio. After a whole minute of deliberation, I creaked open the knob and shuffled in.

            “Ms. Mara, there’s a new student standing at the door. I think she should introduce herself. She looks really scared,” a boy with spiky hair shouted. His words unleashed a punch of laughter in the room. I shifted uncertainly from foot to foot, and they laughed even louder.

            “Quiet down, quiet down. No need to intimidate her.” The teacher walked over. “I’m Ms. Mara, just as Jesse said. You’ll get to meet everyone later, but for now why don’t you take a seat. Oh, and before I forget, what’s your name?”

            I barely paid attention in class because I wanted to make a good first impression. I straightened myself in the chair then slouched when I saw most students doing so. Several students were snapping their gum, and I made a mental note to bring a pack to school.

            All the boys had on baggy jeans or khakis with sweaters or checkered button-downs. A few wore t-shirts. Girls wore makeup or at least a hint of color on their lips. Tightly fitted shirts emphasized hints of pubescent bosom. Flared jeans and platforms seemed to be the popular choice for bottoms. Nothing in my closet could come close to the outfits my classmates wore.  Cologne and perfume choked the air, and everyone’s hair seemed freshly washed. In China we had to use public showers which meant I only got to shower once a week at most, as did most of my classmates. No one notices B.O. when everyone smells equally bad, but now I could already see a few noses sniffing in my direction. I didn’t say a word in any of my classes and nobody noticed me.

            I hoped to find Rita in the cafeteria, but we had different lunch periods. Scanning the crowd, with quavering hands clutching my Styrofoam tray, I timorously walked over to a group of girls.

            “Can I sit here?”

            The posse stared at me for a few seconds then resumed their chatter. None of them said anything to me the entire lunch period. I sat a few chairs away listening to them talk about how hot someone named Justin Timberlake was.

            A week passed and no one talked to me besides Rita. I was too timid to initiate conversation so I observed my classmates. Cliques infested Ryder Middle School. The group which grabbed my attention consisted of Caucasian celery diet girls. They were always boisterous when together, but spoke to no one when alone. Later I found out that was called snobbery. The leader of the group was an energetic, fast-talking girl named Erica Tate who ruled with the fist of Nero, whose social acuity matched the crispness of her Abercrombie t-shirts. Her group would often burst into hit songs in the middle of the hallway, and for some reason could never get enough of slapping each other on the ass.

            I was no different from the rest of the school—I wanted to be one of those girls, the “Glitzes” as I called them. Yet I knew the chances of being accepted into their posse was about as remote as Rita failing Algebra. But everything changed one day during Spanish class, all starting with a guy who was just as vertically challenged as me (an oddity in the land of milk and hormones).

 

You can now read parts of my memoir using the “Look Inside” option on Amazon. The link is below; please enjoy!

Amazon Book Link