People say life is a journey. Cute, right? It's actually more like standing on a moving escalator that sometimes speeds up, sneaks a sideways shove, and then blames you for not holding on tight enough. Some call it fate. Most days, I just call it Monday.
Meaning? Everyone hunts it like it's some kind of rare loot drop. Some find a shiny rock and call it destiny. Others, like me, find nothing but start blogs or podcasts about the hunt itself. Here's the honest truth: most of us are extras—background characters in other people's grand dramas. And honestly, that's kind of a win. Extras don't get caught in the biggest messes. We stick around longer.
Now, about me—a confession. Despite my best efforts to be... well, normal, my life has this weird setting turned on from birth: misunderstanding amplification. It's almost a superpower of sorts. Try to help someone, and suddenly you're plotting something sneaky. Keep your head down, and people somehow figure you're suspiciously competent. One time, I held a door open for a lady and she immediately assumed I was the building manager. I told her I wasn't. She still asked for a discount on rent. I swear, I was just trying to be polite.
Another time, I stayed late at school to avoid the rain and somehow ended up nominated for student leadership. I still don't know how that happened. Leadership camp? Yeah, it rained there, too—because apparently, I can't avoid storms, literal or figurative.
The funniest? Told a friend, "You've got this," as encouragement, and bam—I was promoted to project lead on a thing I didn't even know existed. Being accidentally responsible is a skill I never asked for.
Honestly, it's frustrating, but also kind of useful. Like armor. People don't usually mess with the guy they think is either secretly dangerous or already got a plan they don't understand. Me? I'm fine keeping that aura. It's quieter that way.
Do I hate life? No way. I just don't expect some epic theme song when I walk into a room. If fate wants to create drama, I'll be clapping politely in the cheap seats and slipping out before the traffic jam begins.
If that sounds cynical, don't worry—it's just practical optimism. Expect storms, carry an umbrella, and definitely don't yell at the sky about it. Oh, and bring snacks. Hungry people make terrible decisions. Ask history.
People love grand quotes about destiny, but I'm more into small truths. Like, sleep on your problems; even disasters feel better after some rice and a nap. A clean room won't fix everything, but at least it makes your failures look organized. And if you can't control what happens, at least control how you hold yourself. Walk tall, keep calm, and ask fewer questions.
So yeah, misunderstanding follows me around like a loyal dog that's hard of hearing. Stuff like holding that door and ending up the building manager, getting roped into student leadership by accident, or suddenly leading random projects—it all just happens. People see you doing nothing and somehow think you're plotting world domination. You blink once and suddenly you've got the mic. For the record: blinking isn't consent.
My grand life philosophy? Keep your promises small and precise. Big promises draw lightning, and nobody wants electrocution. Learn basic skills: cook, budget, apologize when you mess up, and—most importantly—leave early. Seriously. Leave early. Don't chase spotlights. They're hot and those bulbs blow out at the worst time. Stand closer to exits where the air's better and the door's open.
So, if you were expecting a grand speech about destiny? Sorry to disappoint. This is the story of a small person who often gets mistaken for someone bigger. If you squint, it's pretty funny. If you don't squint, it's still funny. Just quieter.
If fate wants a big show, it can hire professionals. Me? I'll be here washing dishes, fixing my collar, and just minding my own business.
Probably being misunderstood the entire time.
And honestly? That's not the worst superpower in this loud, messy world.