“Right,” I agree. “And I know your experiences of marginalization are much worse than mine. But do you ever just feel like the deck is stacked against you?”
“All. The. Freaking. Time.” She crumples up the packet and shoves it down the side of the sofa for her parents to uncover in about a year’s time. “And I think I’ll feel that way as long as I live in this country. But what are you going to do – not even try? What’s the worst that can happen if you enter a competition and it doesn’t pan out?”
I properly think about this, and my fear really comes down to this. “I’ll be laughed at. And not in the good way.”
Turning to face me head on, Ajita replies, “So what?”
I smile. I know what’s about to happen. “So I’ll feel stupid.”
“So what?”
“It’ll be embarrassing.”
“So what?”
When one of us is scared to do something for fear of rejection, this is how we talk each other around it. By asking “so what?” and forcing ourselves to justify the fear, we soon realize there’s rarely anything to actually be afraid of.
I’m already struggling to come up with more answers. “So it might make me want to give up writing.”
One more time: “So what?”
Watching as she tucks her legs smugly under her butt, I concede, “All right. You win.”
“No, you win,” she grins. “No matter what. Just by putting yourself out there. Look, it’s human nature to shy away from situations where we might experience shame, especially in public. There’s something primal about wanting to avoid embarrassment at all costs. Not to get too academic on you, but from a psychoanalytic standpoint, it’s about preserving your ego – and thus your sense of personal identity.”
“Calm down, Freud,” I say. “Spare a thought for the idiots in the room.”
“Sorry, I forget about your below-average IQ. All I’m saying is that self-preservation and resistance to shame is natural. But it’s also not logical. And because it’s not a logical fear, it can’t be countered with a logical response. You have to face emotion with emotion. So channel all your passion and bravery and wildness, and shove them in fear’s face, okay?”
“Okay.” I grin back even harder. “You’re the best. Even though you’re far too intelligent to be my best pal.”
“I know. I tell myself this on a daily basis. And yet I’m the one who has absolutely zero idea what to do with my life. Figures. So what are you going to focus on next?” Ajita asks. “You have to be working on something else so you don’t go insane waiting for the results of the competition.”
“I’m not sure,” I say, digging my fist into a bowl of salted popcorn. [It may seem like we’re always eating, but that’s because we’re always eating.] “I had an idea for a short film about a couple in a failing marriage, and one of them – an extremely extroverted individual who never listens to their partner – loses the power of speech to a rare brain disorder. And it, like, totally changes their entire relationship. It upends everything they thought they knew about love and communication and humor. It forces the dominant one in the relationship to swap roles.”
“That sounds cool.”
“Right? But I can’t figure out whether the extrovert who loses their speech should be the man or the woman, because either way the underlying message could be considered problematic. If the man is the outspoken, domineering type, and the wife is super submissive and meek, it feeds into a relationship stereotype you see so often. But then if it’s the woman who ends up losing the power of speech, the message is kind of like, you can only have a successful marriage if the woman sits down and shuts up. You know?”
Flabbergasted, Ajita looks at me as though she’s genuinely shocked I’m capable of posing thought-provoking questions. “That sounds like an exhausting internal debate to have, and I’m quite frankly surprised I can’t smell your brain burning. Why don’t you try and plot out both versions and see which feels best?”
“Good plan, Kazakhstan. Can I borrow your laptop? I’m in the mood to word vomit onto a blank document and see what happens.”
“Sure thing.” She tosses me her sleek MacBook, which makes my decrepit laptop with the H key missing look like some sort of prehistoric tombstone. “Or why don’t you make it a same-sex couple? Two women, one extrovert, one introvert. Seriously messed-up relationship dynamic. What’s not to love?”
She’s not looking at what I’m doing when I open up her browser, which is good. Because as soon as I do, the first thing I see is an open Facebook tab.
The last thing Ajita looked at online was a photo of Carlie on a beach in a tiny bikini.
Kissing a girl.
Friday 16 September
6.17 a.m.
Am I reading too much into this? Was Ajita casually flicking through Carlie’s Cancún photo album and just happened to land on that particular picture before I arrived?
But I remember the weird stares and the familiar welcomes in the cafeteria. I remember how surprised I was that Ajita hadn’t mentioned her new friend to me until that moment.
What if she’s not just a friend?
How have I never considered this before? Yeah, we’ve gossiped about guys for God knows how long, but looking back . . . is it always just my drama we’re analyzing? Does she ever discuss guys she likes? I’m actually not sure she ever has – at least not in a romantic way. I wrack my mind for the last crush she told me about, but I come up empty. I always thought she was a virgin just because she was waiting for the right guy, but what if there is no right guy?
God, I’m a self-involved mess of a friend. I mean, I’m never going to be a detective, but my lack of observational skills is truly astounding, especially in the context of something so significant in my best friend’s world. What else have I missed?
If Ajita is gay, what’s she going through right now? How long has she known? Is she terrified to come out because of what her family and friends will think? What I’ll think? Of course I would be nothing but proud of her, and happy that she’s embracing her sexuality, and I hope she knows that. But still, it can’t be easy having to guess how people will react. To gauge responses before they even happen.
All I want is to be there for her, but I don’t know how best to do that. I keep thinking about what I would want if the situations were reversed. I’d probably wish she would sit me down and be like, dude, I know what’s going on and it’s fine, I still love you, okay? I’ll keep this a secret for as long as you need me to.
But no matter how close we are, Ajita and I are different people, and I can’t treat her the way I’d want to be treated – I have to treat her how she wants to be treated. It’s an important distinction. What’s best for one person is another person’s worst nightmare. And right now it seems like she’d rather keep this all quiet while she figures it out. You know, if there’s even anything to figure out. I might be reading too much into it, as I have a tendency to do.
Riddle me this, dear reader. How does one ask one’s best friend if they’re gay when said best friend clearly isn’t ready for one to know?
2.45 p.m.
I’m writing this post in incognito mode from computing class because I am a fearless rebel who cannot be tamed. Usually I would wait until I got home and was safely in my cardboard-box-sized bedroom with a small mountain of peanut butter cups, but this is a legitimate emergency.
Spoke to Danny at lunch. It’s true. He’s in love with me. Which is catastrophic on a number of levels. The conversation went like this:
Me: Dude, what’s going on? You’ve been so weird lately. Danny: What? No.
Me: Danny.
Danny: It just bugs me when you and Ajita gossip about guys all the time.
Me: Ajita and I have gossiped about guys since the age of eleven. It’s never bothered you before.
Danny: long silence while blushing
Me: reciprocates long silence because of aversion to conflict Danny: Well, it bothers me now.
Me: Why?
Danny: I don’t know.