I have spent the last week and a day wondering: Why wasn’t I good enough?
Last Sunday, I went to an event. Girls from the DC area all met up to drink iced matcha lattes. It was put together by a DC content creator who regularly tries matcha lattes around the city. She called it a “matcha meetup.”
I got there 15 minutes late, ordered my matcha and waited to the side. I told myself before leaving my apartment that if I spoke to one new person at the event, I’d be proud of myself.
While standing there, I decided to speak to the girl next to me. When I spoke, she looked at me with hesitation. A soft, barely-there smile slid across her face. I caught her off guard. I wanted to back off, but I pushed forward.
I asked for her name, and she gave it. I unconsciously repeated it in the form of a question back to her. I heard it helps you remember people’s names faster, but now I do it as a nervous tic.
Long pause.
I asked her how long she’s lived in DC, she answered, “5 years.”
Another pause.
She asked me how long I’ve been in the area. I told her.
Pause.
The Host of the event came downstairs. Shocked, I said her name to grab her attention. I didn’t expect to speak with her today. I’m certain I forgot to smile when I addressed her. I was still trying to process what happened with First Girl, so I didn’t have time to prepare my face for The Host. I don’t think I smiled when I first spoke to First Girl either.
The Host and I talked for five minutes about what cafés we think served the best matcha lattes in the city. First Girl joins our conversation, and focused on The Host. One occasional glance at me. No big deal, The Host is the recognizable face here. Not me.
But I noticed First Girl immediately perk up once The Host turned her attention to First Girl. My brain reminded me of this fact on the drive home. The Host got enthusiasm and charisma I did not. First Girl is now bubbly, talking rapidly. A totally different person. I try not to notice.
The Host: Biracial, fair-skinned, a splattering of freckles, light green eyes.
First Girl: South Asian, chin-length black hair.
Me: Copper skin, type 4 hair in a big puff, a bulbous nose, little moles all over my face.
Inferiority washes over me.
First Girl started to talk about a Japanese-French fusion restaurant that has really “really good matcha and pastries.” I repeated the name of the place in the form of a question. First Girl silently nodded. I made a remark about adding the location to my ever-growing Notes app list of matcha latte places to try in the area, despite already having an extensive list.
My hearing grew deaf as I searched for the fusion spot on Google. I couldn’t find what she was talking about. I grew self-conscious about staring at my phone in front of two strangers. I put it down and rejoin.
The Host brought up a hotel that also has an excellent matcha latte too.
I silently added the hotel to my list.
Pause.
I repeated the name of the fusion restaurant a second time, just in case I typed it into Google wrong. First Girl looked at me, out of the corner of her eye and without moving her head as she silently nodded again. Quickly turning back to The Host and smiling.
She might as well have gutted me right there. I don’t understand what I did wrong.
The Host ushered us upstairs. She placed a roll of paper name tags and a Sharpie on a plastic white folding table. I heard a hint of nervous laughter in her voice as The Host explained why she brought them.
I found the explanation endearing.
The Host walks away to greet newcomers.
First Girl says something that I don’t entirely hear as I write my first name on the tag. I respond saying the name tags are helpful because “I’ve never been to anything like this before.” (A lie I don’t know why I said. Perhaps in hopes of redeeming myself in her eyes.)
She doesn’t respond as she waits for me to hand her the Sharpie. I think about the lack of response as I log into work the following Monday morning. Is it because The Host walked away?
I place the tag on my top and walk towards the first empty table I see. I place my drink down and half expect for First Girl to follow me.
She does not follow me. She found a full table on the opposite side of the room from me. I looked for an empty table too as I walked down the aisle of tables filled with girls and their drinks.
After she’d sat down, I followed her lead. I found a semi-full table and talked with two very sweet girls for an hour. About thirty minutes into my new conversation, I happened to look up and see First Girl talking excitedly at her table. The Host made her rounds and was now sat at First Girl’s table. I turned back to the present and knew, with an almost certainty, it was me. I was the odd one out. At that moment, I knew that I would think about what I had just seen later.
The perceived slights continued to bother me for the rest of the day. I lied in my sister’s bed, disassociating while watching a YouTube video.
Recounting the meetup to my therapist, I told her, “I wouldn’t want to be friends with someone like that anyway.” She agreed and applauded me on my newfound security.
That night, I lied in my own bed, hugging a stuffed moth. On the verge of tears.
The peril that comes with meeting new people is not the fact that I’m interacting with a new person. It’s the meaning my mind creates out of thin air about everything they do in response to me.
♡♡♡Thank you for reading!!! Let me know if you would like more posts like this.♡♡♡
I feel this so deeply in my heart.
I don't think I've ever seen this feeling written out so spot on, which simultaneously horrified me and made me feel better. I had an experience like this today, and this was just honestly what I needed to see after that, so thank you for this <3