But My Journal Thinks I’m Cool

My Craving Makes Me Unhinge My Jaw and My Mind

By Nikitha Mannem

I can’t do anything without needing to seem mysterious or wanting people to find me attractive. I’ll sit straighter, shift my hair a certain way, and pop my shoulders to be everything I wish to be perceived as, even when no one can see me. I can’t even go without acting like I’m much cooler than I really am when writing in my own journal. When I mull over why I do this, I’m haunted by Margaret Atwood’s words, “You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.”

It’s horrifying each time I snap out of my reverie and back to reality. As a woman, I was raised for my life to be a performance of everything that everybody demands of me. To appease the need to be addictive and aesthetic that lingers in my mind, force-fed by society. However, I do also see the biological aspect; humans intrinsically change their behaviors in hopes of fitting in and being more sociable. We see these behaviors as early as childhood, and they often don’t dissipate as we get older. It’s merely the audience that changes, from our parents to different peer groups in academic, personal, and professional settings.

Yet, this doesn’t answer the question I ask myself: why do I pretend to be cool in my own journal?

My journal is for me alone, my thoughts and feelings, yet I have this strange sensation that other people will eventually read it, like a historical document, and find myself unable to write for pleasure. I’m obsessively concerned with how I’m perceived, to the point that I hate it when people acknowledge that they can see me, yet I crave their validation

I’m an actress in limbo, and the pages of my journal are my stage.