I always felt unnoticed, at least for the most part. I tried to live my life day to day under the presumption that I was never a topic of conversation, and that nothing was interesting enough about me for anyone to talk about. I liked this fact. I liked being under the radar, too cool for school, like a nimble ninja covertly coasting through life. Most people go their entire lives in fear of isolation, of being cast aside and left feeling unwanted, which motivates even the most aggressive of lone wolves to scour for company in desperation of social survival. But my greatest fear was the exact opposite. I thought other people were corruptive, that I was conducive to coercion of the most insidious purposes and that I would become someone I didn’t recognize if I let others in, so much so that I preferred isolation. To live in this euphoric trance that someone may go through the world unnoticed is blissful— even though it’s completely unrealistic. Everyone at one point realizes that they’re not alone, for better or for worse.

My rude awakening came towards the end of middle school. Before the Seventh grade, I never had many friends, since I spent most of my pre-teen days with my nose buried in books like Dante’s Inferno and A Midsummer Night’s Dream by the fourth grade which branded me a brainiac and a pariah. To their dismay I wasn’t the least bit discouraged by this. I always thought myself too intellectual for those around me, my mind too vast and my thoughts too nuanced and contemporary for commoners. So, under the recommendation of my one good friend and the apprehension of my parents, I decided to do something totally uncharacteristic of Jessica, and have a party. That’s right— I was having a party. ME. That one girl who aways sat at the front of class and wore her hair in a ponytail for all 134 days of second grade, that girl. If I had weighed the pros and cons at the time and look purely statistically at the odds for this small possibility that I could throw a successful middle school party, they would be slim. So slim in fact, the small slither in the pie chart is barely visible to the naked eye and requires advanced telescopes to observe. But I never back down to a challenge.

So the following week I set a date. I made sure it wasn’t too close but not too far; I needed an adequate amount of time to do my usual “All Hell has broken loose” and “It’s the end of the world, someone get me out of here” routine, and for the recurring “I don’t think you should this” and “Don’t get your hopes up”. Then, the unthinkable happened— it came. The party had always seemed like this eventual occasion, something sedentary and elusive like the way you may think of your wedding day or High School graduation. But it came faster than a speeding car down I-95, like a heartbeat, instantaneous and yet foreboding in nature. My parents had gotten the ornate extravagances of a cake from Publix, complete with misspelled icing that read, “Happy Birthday Jenny”, enough balloons to lift a large animal mid-air that were colored all shades of the rainbow and decorated the house in tattered Luau decor out of the attic from someone else’s party some time ago, which consisted of small tiki men with scuffs on their plastic casing, tiki torches without wicks and fold out hot pink tissue paper hibiscuses that had more than a few tears in them.

I came out of my in my new green dress, the first I had from the Juniors section at the department store, which fit loose and my first pair of kitten heels, which made me look “oh, SO grown up!”, even though I could barely walk in them. I had said 7:30 was the time for everyone to arrive, and I still had forty five minutes, so I sat by the door, thinking of how much fun I would have and waited. And waited. And waited. Around eight o’clock, a few stragglers wandered in, plucked some of the soggy Chick-fil-A nuggets off the dinning room table and wandered into my living room and sat sporadically around the room in various crevices with blank stares trying not to look at one another. Meanwhile, the DJ in the corner who insisted on bringing extra speakers so the large attendance of people at the party could experience the music at it’s best sat on a stool behind his monitor and equipment on his phone, waiting from someone to show up so he could begin working. At this point, my heart sunk into my stomach cavity. I hated to admit I was discouraged by the emptiness of the party, but I began to believe they were right. It wouldn’t work out. I couldn’t believe they were right.

Instead of waiting for the crowd which would never come, I went to the living room and danced with the fifteen people in there, who consisted of mostly the only friends I had ever had during my eight years at my elementary school. We moved back and forth to the music out of tempo and through subconscious communication accepted what was. 8:45 rolled around, and I was content. It wasn’t what I asked for, but what truly is in life? I couldn’t beat myself up over this, I said. Not everything can go your way. And besides, I’d rather be alone than in company that’s make me wish I was alone, right?

Then, I heard a knock on the door. That’s nothing, I thought, it’s just another family member. Mom and Dad will let them in. In spite of my assumption, I took a look through my periphery and saw a group of twenty kids enter my house, all from school. Then, as if someone opened the flood gates, more and more of my peers began piling in, each in carpools that grew from five per car to twelve. They came in caravans, each with a different apologetic story. Some had come from baseball practice and meant to, really meant to show up earlier while others had been looking for my address for hours! By the end of the night, every single person from my grade (excluding one girl who had contracted a serious case of pneumonia, but had tried to get out of the hospital) showed up at my house. My modestly sized venue was not equipped to handle so many, since I expect even the house had never thought I’d get so many people here. The electricity went out on several instances from overuse caused by the DJ’s extra speakers. The floor shook on it’s beams since my home was built in the 1950’s and wasn’t made for parties and the air conditioning was all but functioning since it was not equipped to condition air for 200 people. But despite the issues, everyone left that night with exhaustion induced smiles on their faces and beads of sweat of their brows, thanking me for having them over, while I secretly thanked them for showing up. 

After the miracle that was the party I threw, I was no longer transparent. I showed up to school Monday to people who had claimed they’d always been my friends.I got asked questions like, “What’s your number?” and “Want to hang out this weekend?”. Even the enigmatic and dreamy Michael from my Math class had taken a shine to me, even though I’d been pining over him for years. People could see me, and for a while I liked this. What was I doing before? How could I possibly prefer isolation to this? The succession of parties, get-togethers, acquaintances and other social escapades turned into a blur as my life changed.

Then there was a point when it wasn’t fun anymore. Around the end of seventh grade, I had crossed another threshold in my life and made my first enemy. I guess I wasn’t relevant enough to have foes before, but this changed everything. Soon after, most of my so-called friends began choosing sides, as if to prepare for war. I felt like there was understanding amongst everyone I didn’t understand. I stayed neutral in attempt to emulate Switzerland, when really I was a deer in headlights. My relationships around me began crumbling and the pillar I stood on turned to salt.  I couldn’t go about my life anymore, my paranoia acted like a vice, constricting me to my anxiety driven thoughts like “Were they just talking abut me?”. I couldn’t trust them, I couldn’t trust anyone.

People could see me now, but they saw what they wanted to see. It was then I realized people are like windows. Others look directly through and try to find something in relation to themselves, make their assumptions and continue on. Sometimes, they do so in interest of what’s on the other side. But no one looks at a window and appreciates the glass itself. It’s always a projection; always an ulterior motive or hidden meaning. I became a window, a two dimensional construct of what others thought. The mind is an uncontrollable machine, whizzing presumptions and judgments and pre-conceived notions and the world is full of those, believe me. It’s instinctive; we judge so we can feel less threatened, and by relating an image or concept with something we understand, we’re no longer in danger. So I changed. I bent my will, my personality, my morals, my spine— which was then non-existent, to fit the mold others created of me to be accepted.

I grew to hate what I had become and manifested contempt for those around me who change me. Living a lie became so exhausting as I put on a mask every morning to attend class and pretend I was fine. My desire to graduate from middle school was so great by the time I finished, I was determined never to look back as I accepted my Diploma of Completion. I would say to myself, “I knew I was right”. I had become corrupted and changed at the hands of other people, something I knew would happen. Why couldn’t I have listened to instinct, stuck to the status quo and kept my head down? High School would be a new leaf for me and I could start anew, I thought. That’s all I need, another chance.

I began my career with a fresh outlook on who I could be. I didn’t need to be at the mercy of the opinion of others; no one here knew me. I could be anyone I wanted. Freshman year started with a bang as I made friends immediately upon arrival and reached a whole other atmosphere of social strata that I had never seen for myself. These people are different, I thought. This is different. Then after a few months, it wasn’t. I realized people saw friendship in what they wanted from me and how they wanted to use me. I entered the same phase of self deprecation and anger towards those around me for a while, and kept asking myself what was wrong. Why did this keep happening? After spending countless nights making lists of pros and cons, deep thought sessions reflecting on situations I wish I could reverse and gaining almost fifteen pounds in depression weight, it hit me. A thought descended from Heaven itself and presented something I hadn’t considered before. What was I doing about this? Eleanor Roosevelt once said in an estranged Reader’s Digest article that, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” How could I let others dictate my state of being? I stayed awake all night in a sea of my floral bedsheets and dispersed thoughts about my self esteem, trying to reinvent myself. 

The next day I woke with a sense of self control. People will always have flaws, and have expectations and make assumptions about me, but if I could become independent enough to disregard their opinion of me, I could keep my happiness and my friends. Granted, it is easier said than done. One of greatest challenges I’ve ever faced is letting go of the importance of someone else’s perception of me, when really mine is the only one that matters. In my sixteen years of being on this Earth, this has been one of the most important virtues I’ve chosen to uphold. There’s no escaping human communication, which is something I didn’t realize earlier in life. Everyone will always make judgments and share them, whether or not it is necessary since humanity is hard wired to do so. But stay sound of mind and true to myself, no importance can be given to these subjective opinions, which will always vary. I cant control what others think of me, but I can control what I think of myself. Even though my method is foolproof, sometimes I still revert back to my reclusive state and crave isolation. Even to this day I still try to fly a low coop and stay hidden. But let’s be realistic; gossip is as rampant as the common cold. Opinion is subjective; and so are windows.