At a panel with only high-schoolers my age,
The summer of 2015,
I asked a question related to the topic of vocations,
But the response was humiliating:
“We’re all single in life” sayeth one, with accompaniment of bass laughter
In the background.
The only one not going along with the laughter was the questioner.

Why do people tell me to smile more?
To not be too serious?
To take a joke?
What I would do sometimes to show people
All of my character, from birth, to prove them wrong.
How easy that is to do
Unless I acquire useful thinking.

People have instructed me before
To relax, but if I did “lighten up” at those moments,
I’d fear losing touch of public etiquette,
And receive a verbal penalty from the ones who told me to unstiffen in the first place.

A reverend once told me that life is such a balance,
But how can I balance the “what-ifs” in my head
With what is and should be appropriate in accordance with time and place?

My “Confiteor” is that I am part of the fault
Of not taking people seriously;
As I grow, I arm my eyes, ears and nerves
That what I unexpectedly receive I do receive
With a slower reaction.

I often imagine myself approaching the people,
Fists locked parallel to my hips, if you will,
Who have picked on me, joking or not, for just being aware
Of my surroundings and courtesy toward public environments,
And unleashing loud, assertive imperatives,
Reminding them I am not a carpet to step on,
But a warrior-patriot prepared to defend and even make-believe reasons for the moves I make…And I’m serious.