This month’s word is sunny, meaning “abounding in sunshine”, “exposed to, lighted, or warmed by the direct rays of the sun”, “pertaining to or proceeding from the sun; solar”, “resembling the sun” or “cheery, cheerful, or joyous”.
Sorry this one is so late; I had real trouble trying to finish it.
They call me Sunny. It took me a long time to understand that this was a mean joke. It’s not that I don’t have a sense of humour, it’s just different to most people’s. So I don’t get their jokes, and they don’t get mine. This makes it hard for me to make friends.
People always called me names, said I was humourless, weird, boring – different, wrong. But I never called them names, was never mean to them. I’d try to hide, but they’d always find me. I’d run, but they’d catch me.
So I learned to endure, to withdraw inside myself and present a stoic face to the world. So then they called me emotionless. It was at that point I realised there was no way to win, no way in which the decks were not stacked against me. That they would never let me be, let me be different, let me be myself. The only thing they would accept was the only thing I could not give: to be like them, to be one of them.
I’d tried to approximate it in the past, but it was never quite right. They were always having a conversation I couldn’t fully follow, always following rules I neither knew nor understood. I was always one step sideways, looking at them from an angle.
Always apart. Always different. But eventually, I realised, not wrong.