Metamorphosis

Why can’t I be like her?
She is always in a good mood.
Everybody likes her.
Nothing can ruin her fun.
She can’t ruin anyone’s fun.
How could she always be so outgoing?
She treats strangers as if they were friends.
Insecurities are foreign to her.
Not caring about the way she looks.
Not caring about the way anyone
looks at her.
thinks about her.
talks about her.
She makes for the best stories.
Dancing like nobody is watching.
Everybody likes her. Including herself.

I could never be like her.
It’s like I posess none of these qualities.
Awkward with strangers.
Attatched to people I know.
Insecure about everything.
Constantly overthinking.
People look at me weird.
I deserve to be looked at weird.
I’m not a party person.
I’m not a fun person.

And yet, as soon as the first drinks start to hit, the metamorphosis begins. All the layers of my insecurities droppin shot by shot. All the awkwardness and introversion flushed down my throat. It suddenly feels like nothing can stop me. It’s like I’m growing wings that carry me above everything I hate about myself, carry me to a better place. Just like that, I’m her again. Welcome drunk me. Go out and party.

And as I stay at home, like a memory of times I badly want to forget, the only question, spinning in my head is:
Who is that person at the party, while I’m staying home instead?

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