You either have always wanted to be a writer, or you never expected that you would become one. Perhaps you were gunning for a more lucrative career like becoming a rock star or a linebacker. But you have a way with words. The issue of nature versus nurture notwithstanding, you found yourself penning stories, poems, or articles. You’ve read great men of letters and realized they made a tremendous impact on your formation as a writer. In my case, Animal Farm and Charlotte’s Web inspired me to write, and I am a deviant to norms.

Weird. Strange. Odd. Eccentric. Whichever way they call you, take it as a compliment. When you were younger, it was difficult to embrace it, but you survived. Congratulations. Perhaps you are now laughing whenever you looked back at the days and always wondered why you were different from the other kids. Remember the time when your history teacher once told the class to open your books on the page about Mount Rushmore? An avid fan of the arts, you have a particular leaning toward humanities and was well aware of the facts and figures surrounding the laborious task that went into the carving of the four presidential heads. When your teacher asked who were the four presidents carved in stone, you shot your arm in the air without inhibition and went into a full discourse about its concept, design, and federal funding to the open-jawed bewilderment of your young peers. Or perhaps at one point, you had been sent to detention for questioning authority, for challenging accepted norms that had no rational basis. When other kids were busy playing Spin the Bottle Kiss, you were viewing the stars with your trusted telescope.   

That’s why the other kids think you’re weird, and you either took it with a grain of salt, or you shunned your individuality for the sake of blending in. Peer pressure could kill the genuine you.

Weirdness is often associated with things that elude our grasp--the mysterious and in people. For children, it is perceived as not much of a compliment, but an insult. Children are often conditioned to behave in standard behavioral patterns that conform to what is socially acceptable. So much for the nurturing of creativity and individuality.

I once worked at an outsourcing company. During a panel interview, I sat before three human resources officers. One of them asked me what would be my last words if I were to die on that day. I told them that I do not need last words--that it is tragic that most of us prefer to talk rather than listen, and that I believe that, in my lifetime, I had listened twice as much than I had talked. That last words, according to Karl Marx, are for fools who never said enough. My interviewers looked at one another with passive nods, and that concluded my job interview. I blew my chance. My answer might have been too long and weird. As soon as I got home, a voice message on my recorder told me to report for training next week. 

During my first day at training, we went through a series of group dynamics. Part of it was introducing ourselves and telling the other trainees what makes our personality unique. I told them that I talk to myself whenever I am alone, sometimes unabashedly when I am deep in thought even when others are present. It elicited appreciative nods and laughs, after which our trainer told everyone that she talked to herself too and that it was a sign of intelligence. She quoted Stephen Hawking who said that quiet people have the loudest minds. It felt reassuring.