I was seated on the couch, watching my brother, cousins, and some friends as they danced to the rhythm of drill music blaring from the home theater speakers. They moved their legs in a wave-like manner, up and down, matching the bass that shook the windows and furniture of the house.
"She likes the way that I dance," they all rapped along to the song. I was the only one in the parlor not on my feet, seemingly unaffected by the music. It's not that I didn't like the song, but the way they vibed to it just wasn't me. I'm the type to sit down, get lost in the music, and start to imagine myself dancing. In reality, though, I remain seated, with only my leg or foot moving to the beat.
I enjoyed being with my brother, cousins, and our friends, but when they started dancing, I always felt like a fish out of water. After a while, when they were all tired and the vibe had died down, we were all seated, some of us on the ground. My cousin Divine, who had the most humor, started a joke by making fun of his brother's pot belly. That was one of the things they casually did that I didn't like and never participated in, because most of the time it didn’t end well.
The mocking went back and forth, and I remained invisible for quite a while until one of my brother's friends finally noticed me.
"Joshua, why are you always quiet and on your own?" he directed his question at me.
I looked at him, speechless for a few seconds. Everyone else was still laughing and didn't even notice he had said something different from the jokes.
"Every time we are doing something, you never join," he asked again. This time, he caught the attention of everyone.
"It's true, this boy is always acting like a spy assassin," Divine added, making everyone laugh.
"No, but seriously, it isn't good," he insisted.
"That is just how he is. Some people are just quiet and love their personal space," my big brother chipped in.
"It is true, though; you are right," Agi said.
"No, maybe Agi wants him to be shouting and dancing like a madman. But Agi, not everyone is meant to be like you," Divine said, and everyone laughed.
And just like that, the conversation died down, and I became invisible again, lol.
As I sat there, I couldn't help but reflect on how I often felt out of place in these situations. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy being with my family and friends. In fact, I cherished these moments. However, I had always been more introspective and reserved. Socializing in large groups, especially when it involved activities like dancing or joking at someone else's expense, was something that made me uncomfortable.
I thought back to other gatherings and how I usually found a quiet corner to observe rather than participate actively. Sometimes, I would bring a book or my sketchpad to keep myself occupied while still being in the company of others. It wasn't that I didn't want to be a part of the group; I just had a different way of engaging with the world.
Growing up, I had always been the quiet one, the thinker. While my brother and cousins were more outgoing and expressive, I preferred to immerse myself in my thoughts, exploring the world through imagination and reflection. It was a part of who I was, and I had come to accept and appreciate it over the years.
As the night wore on, the conversation shifted to other topics. We talked about school, shared funny stories, and discussed our plans for the future. I joined in these discussions more easily, contributing my thoughts and opinions. These were the moments I enjoyed the most—when we connected on a deeper level, beyond the surface of jokes and dancing.
Eventually, the evening came to an end, and everyone started to head home. My brother and I stayed back to clean up the living room. As we worked, he turned to me and said, "You know, Josh, you don't have to change who you are. We love you just the way you are."
I smiled, appreciating his words. "Thanks, bro. I know. Sometimes I just feel like I don't fit in."
"You do fit in," he reassured me. "Just in your own unique way."
As we finished tidying up, I realized that being different wasn't a bad thing. It was what made me, me. And while I might not dance to the rhythm of drill music or join in the jokes, I brought my own unique perspective and presence to the group. That, in itself, was valuable.
So, as I sat down on the couch once more, I felt a sense of contentment. I didn't need to be like everyone else to belong. I just needed to be myself, and that was more than enough.
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