THE TEA’S CHAPTER 2: THE JOKES WERE NOT FUNNY

CHAPTER 2: THE JOKES WERE NOT FUNNY

It annoys me so much that I felt like I was someone unimportant in the group, and people saw me as a piece of shit in front of the stage. It hurts me so much because I felt like they saw me as someone who was a joker when I was not. It pains me to the core when people wouldn’t take my words seriously, as if I were bluffing in front of them when I wasn’t. It was an insulting feeling to be in the group only to be seen as a joke.  

But I guess there is something in me that makes people unable to take my words seriously. Instead of talking and asking questions, I just stayed silent in my seat and listened to the conversation because, at the end of the day, they wouldn’t listen to my words, and people would just cut me off while I was speaking.

It just hit me one morning.

It came suddenly, out of nowhere, and I found myself wanting to cry because of the thoughts running through my head. I couldn’t control it. It flowed naturally. Perhaps my thoughts wanted to be heard for a long time, but I just hadn’t made the time to sit with them. Now, they do the honor for me, forcing me to figure out these feelings and thoughts. I could feel my heart shattering from these ideas. I could feel the pain, but no tears came. I sat there, trying to welcome them with open arms, gathering my notes to finally figure it out.

I know I have been going through a lot, and I just wanted to sit there with my cup of coffee. But I knew I couldn’t solve the puzzle by thinking alone. I needed my notes to jot down the thoughts running through my head. I don’t know if it was my insecurities hunting me during my quiet morning, or if it was really my trauma that needed healing. I just couldn’t figure it out on my own, and sometimes ideas crept into my head.

In the past years, I knew I was struggling with my mental health, and I knew I was not okay. It also added to my confusion that I was a writer. Sometimes, it hit me that my ideas were cool, and I totally forgot who I was. At the same time, I was dealing with my inner thoughts, and sometimes my experiences crept into my ideas. I had a hard time separating my art and craft from the person that I am. It felt like it was all part of me. I have been doing this for years, and it still lingers. I wanted to write more, but I was also afraid that people would know more about me through my writing. Sometimes, though, I wanted to care less.

Over the years, I felt like I was a villain in some people’s lives, like I was a total threat in their eyes. Even when I did nothing but breathe, I felt like I irked everyone’s presence. Because of this, I didn’t realize that I had been seeing myself as a victim in those moments, and I thought I was the better person because I had changed and cut off the people who had hurt me in the long run. I truly believed I was the better one because, instead of showing up at the party, I hid in my room. I avoided people, avoided their eyes, and never took accountability for who I actually was. Now that I’m older, that perspective still lingers within me, lurking in the shadows.

I blamed other people for the things that didn’t go according to plan. I blamed my path. I blamed my destiny. I always found myself running when things weren’t in my favor. I didn’t realize until now that I was seeing myself as the victim in the story just because I didn’t want to end up like the antagonist of a tale who did bad things. At the back of my mind, I thought I was far from a villain. I saw myself as the protagonist in this crime I was plotting, and I wanted to remain that way: the naïve victim.

I knew it was stupid, but I didn’t realize that I had become more evil. For years, I had been setting up this victim narrative. I just realized, that I was actually the bad guy. I was the villain. I was the mastermind here. I was the engineer who planned, the architect of this villainy, the actress in this film. It mirrored back to me, which is why it affected me so deeply. I enjoyed it. I had fun in the game. And I am not the good person people see me as because I have done some evil deeds of my own.

But hear me out: I am sure it started when some classmates picked me as their target. I don’t know why they did that, but I knew I was being abused. I believe that’s where it all began. Even now, when I do bad things, I still refer to myself as the victim because I thought I was attacked, when, in reality, I wasn’t charged with anything. I had to make the first move before they could fire and pull the trigger on me. When everything became messy and disorganized, I would emerge as the victim. It was my trauma response to everything that had happened to me.

Now, as an adult, I’ve noticed reactions in myself that I cannot fathom. I wonder why I react that way when I could handle it better. It wasn’t until I started writing this that I realized it was due to some unfortunate events in my past that resurface unexpectedly. It’s ironic because I’ve been busy fixing myself, thinking everything was okay, until some scars emerged, triggered by certain events. At last, I’m somewhat aware of these things, but I haven’t taken them seriously. Without confrontation and self-realization, I just moved forward.

I’m aware of my evil deeds, and I want to forget them while moving on. I know I’m trying, but there are days when it hits me hard. The efforts I’ve poured into healing are splashed away by a single thought, sending me back to square one. I wonder if I really am the villain. Despite trying everything to fix myself, some people and their actions weigh on me. I don’t know why I keep them in my life when I should let them go. Am I just too kind?

Perhaps it’s because I see myself as a victim and feel indebted to them. Honestly, I don’t know what to do, and I can’t seem to figure this out. I dragged myself into this mess, and now I must solve it alone. Maybe I expected something from them—some acknowledgment or closure. But there was no communication from the start, so it felt like one step forward and two steps back. It’s like I’m moving in circles, with no end in sight. I can’t escape this mayhem. They did something wrong to me, yet to them, it seemed like a trivial matter because I never addressed it. I never asked them why. I just suffered silently.

When the bullying happened, I wasn’t okay, and these people acted like it was nothing. I may not have cried at the time, but the fact that it affected me deeply is proof that I was hurt. I stayed silent for years, and my silence made it irrelevant to those involved. After all, we were young. There was no violence, but my silence grew louder as I aged. Miscommunication, the victim mentality, and the things I did to protect myself—all of it had a bigger impact than I realized.

Communication had the greatest effect on me. When I felt insulted, I wouldn’t speak up. Instead, I’d brush it off. If I felt like someone had crossed the line, I wouldn’t explain; I’d just walk away and stop talking for days or weeks until I felt better. Then, I’d come back, ready to receive the same nonsense again.

But sometimes, I react differently. When I felt like people were taking advantage of me or my ignorance, I’d cut them off without explanation. In the back of my mind, I’d think, “Why bother explaining?” Yet, in the middle of the night, I’d still find myself overthinking, wondering if I did the right thing. Whenever I started choosing myself over others, I felt haunted by discomfort. I felt guilty for putting myself first.

It’s a vicious cycle. I’d find myself in the same situations, knowing I needed to walk away, yet I stayed because of guilt. Even if I hadn’t done anything wrong, I’d feel guilty and make excuses to justify my actions. I kept validating other people’s feelings, even when they overshadowed mine, telling myself I could handle it. Sometimes, I walked away, but I kept returning to the same places and people who had scarred me because guilt pulled me back. I felt bad for myself, but I also made it harder by staying.

Why is it so hard to choose myself over others? Why is it harder to say no than yes? Why does it feel scary to start something new? When I first started noticing my worth, it felt uncomfortable and unsettling. Maybe it’s because I tolerated everyone’s words and actions for so many years, accepting them without question. Realizing my value felt so foreign and new.

In the past few months, people have angered me to the point of breaking, and I’ve been annoyed with myself for holding back. I wanted to stand up for myself, to speak my mind, to walk away. But instead, I validated their actions and feelings while neglecting my own. I forgot about my sanity. I forgot I existed. I became their mirror.

A mirror that reflects and validates. A mirror that never points out flaws but makes people feel seen and justified. A mirror that accepts them as they are. I wanted them to feel seen through me because I had never been seen in my life. I validated their feelings because I wanted to be validated. I tolerated them because I wanted to be understood. I wanted to make them feel safe because I never felt safe. I wanted to make them feel like they belonged because I was always an outsider. In reality, I wanted to be found.

It was always about me. My scars speak volumes about who I am. It wasn’t just about the people I was with—it was also about me. As the years passed, I began prioritizing myself, but when I did, my bad decisions from the past came rushing back. How stupid, ignorant, and blind I had been. At first, it was uncomfortable to confront, but I realized it was okay. If I wanted to cry, I cried. My past self needed compassion—a pat on the head, a hug, a word of reassurance. My past self needed repair.

They say some things need to be left behind to move forward, but your past self isn’t one of them. That child, that teenager, that younger version of me—they reflect who I am today. Those broken pieces are part of me. Just as my victim mentality shaped me, so did my flaws and failures. I realize now that sometimes, healing requires facing those parts of myself. The child, the teenager, the younger self—they need healing too. They don’t have to remain scarred forever. As I wrote this, I realized it was me all along. I was the root of it all. What made me feel like a joke was when I started protecting my peace. Though I wanted to prioritize it, guilt always crept in. I feared others’ opinions, afraid of being their topic of gossip. But I tried and I ignored it. Though guilt still haunts me at times, I remind myself that peace is worth it. Peace is when my energy rises, not drains.

I have learned that there will be times when I’ll be treated like a joke—whether it’s intentional or not. In those moments, I just have to smile, laugh, and preserve my energy for the people who truly deserve it. My counterattack should surprise them. I’ve learned that I am the driver of my own life, not them. I have the power to change and to achieve the impossible. I won’t stop trying. I will soar like an eagle to witness the beauty of the sky, and like a creature in the deepest sea, I will swim into the ocean to discover its wonders. It takes effort, perseverance, and courage, but one step at a time, I will no longer be a joke in anyone’s eyes. And when it gets hard, I just have to pause, look up, and breathe. The sky is vast and far—I haven’t reached it yet, so I shouldn’t give up. Life’s beauty is worth swimming for. Just go with the flow. Look up when I am tired, admire the sky, and remember: to get there, I must keep aiming higher. 

I will arrive soon.