What makes me different? Nothing.

How are my lovely bees today?

So, I don’t really know what to talk about in this fine evening, but I wanted to write something.

It’s funny, actually. I know what I want to talk about, I have a blog and a keyboard, but I just can’t seem to be brave enough to write it down. Because someone might read this and feel like crap and I don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings. I feel frustrated, though, that some people are just born jerks.

You ask me a question, I’m kind enough to answer it, but there’s a misunderstanding going on and you couldn’t care less about what I’ve got out of the situation. I want my fucking answer, because I’m doing it for you, ok? You don’t have to act like a bitch and isolate me, cause you know, you still haven’t got what you came for and I’m not giving it to you anytime soon if you keep it  this way.

Second…why doesn’t anybody care about how I’m doing? It’s like I’m just a piece of furniture. I get to ask all the questions, I get to keep the conversation alive and if I screw up, it all goes to hell. Same thing with photos. Say, we’re all having a special moment and we want to remember it, right? Don’t get me wrong, I love taking pictures of the people I love…I just sometimes wish I could be in them. To be able to look at a certain memory and think “Aw, I look like a pig here, but it was so fun!”. But no. I get to be the photographer at all times. If I want a picture with someone…I can’t have it. Did you know that I spent one fucking week with Yani, but I have a total of 0 photos of me and her together? And no, I don’t complain, because I’m egoistic and I like to be in a photo, no, no, no. I just wish someone else would’ve taken one…just one shot of me and my best friend that I get to see only once a year.

I didn’t even try. It was all “Can you take a picture of me and the soy sos we got from the sushi restaurant?” “Can you take a picture of me rolling on the floor with your big blue ball?” “Can you take a picture of us 3? (Yana, Dido & Boyan)” “Can you take a picture of  me sticking a cookie up my nose? Or maybe I should chew it and let you take a photo of the result?”, but it was never “Hey, I think I want to have you sealed in a moment next to me, smiling.” I felt like I was there only to take pictures of useless things. That made me feel even more useless than the things themselves.

And it’s not because of the fucking photo, it’s because of them. I just realized the times I’ve been taken care of are a lot less than the times I had to take care of someone else. It’s never “Hey, Kirilova, you wanna go out?”, it’s always me asking. And if I wasn’t a mentally strong person, that would’ve crushed me. Instead, now I’m opening my mouth when I’m not asked and I have a blog, where nobody can interrupt me.

I like talking. I love pulling interesting stories out of my bunny hat and I love to make people laugh. But how am I supposed to do that if they don’t give me a chance? I’m absolutely sure that you would’ve only known my name if I hadn’t opened my big talker about the other stuff.

Okay, maybe there are SOME people, 1 or 2 that are treating me as a person and are actually worried about me every once in a while, but…I just wish the others can learn that I like what they like. I’m them.

Oh, and also, strangely I’m attached to a pile of people, who I like to the last cell of my marrow bone, but they seem to be…jerks.

//Stef – How have you all been doing?

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