Everybody Is Weird, Nobody Is Normal
Truth is, we’re all fighting our inner demons
How long did it take you to accept your weirdness? Have you ever accepted it?
I remember growing up and not fitting in. I didn’t like my name. I cringed whenever I went to a non-Jewish event and my name was called. I wanted to be ordinary, like every other kid in the playground. John was my name of choice. Unassuming, mild, and easy to pronounce. My surname (not Salsa) also caused me acute embarrassment.
It didn’t help that my older brother was super popular: star of the sports team, great with the girls, talkative, charming, even a little roguish. He was the embodiment of all that I wanted to be. Of course, I hated him. We didn’t get along. As kids, he thought I was my parents’ favorite, and accused me of always getting him into trouble. (He was probably right.)
Puberty wasn’t too kind either. The usual round of bad skin, bad posture, and awkwardness define many teens except for the chosen few. I hated going outside, and my sedentary lifestyle contributed to ever-increasing weight issues. My mum was a mean cook, too. She never showed much love physically; she often stressed trying to keep up appearances. But her food was divine, and she showered me with affection through my stomach.
