In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Cringe-Worthy.”

I’m not a shy person.  Nor am I quiet.  I am a loud person with a ridiculous amount of misplaced energy.  And yet, to strangers, I come off as a very introverted, shy person.  Which, if you truly know me, is absurd.  But I guess that misguided impression comes from my fear of confrontation.  When I feel comfortable, especially around my best friends, I usually have trouble shutting up.  But around people I am unfamiliar with, I freeze.  Being assertive is not something I am good at.  I will exhaust all possibilities to avoid talking with anybody.  I will make something hard out of a simple task because of my fear and refusal to ask for help.  Most people associate somebody who refuses to ask others for help as someone with too much pride, but that is not my issue (granted I am not perfect and can be quite arrogant).  I cringe at having to expose the fact that I am completely clueless with certain things, and require assistance.  As a student, I would often times go home with no idea how to complete an assignment because I refused to ask a question.  I feared embarrassing myself in front of the whole class, more than I feared the consequences of taking home a bad grade.  Mainly, my problem lies with my elders.  Especially when I was younger, talking to anybody older than me, even older by only a few years, was enough to make me cringe.


In a room full of people, you’d find her sitting and watching.  Watching as people laugh gaily with friends and play games.  Watching from a comfortable place that she’s situated herself in, surrounded by people she cares about.  Her hands rest in her lap.  She always fiddles with her jewelry.  Always doing something with her fingers.  She smiles.  She couldn’t be happier.  


“Travelling through Paris…the sun shining, not too hot.  A pleasant breeze.”  She smiled.  “Maybe Rome.  And then Greece, followed by a deep discussion debating the differences and similarities of their culture and architecture.   A backpacking trip throughout Europe, sleeping under the stars, no tent, just us and the world.”

“And Africa.  A long trip to Africa, getting a dark tan will working with small villages, like a mission trip.  And then, off to Australia, just to see the Kangaroos.”

“And the Koalas.”  she laughed.

“And then to India.  We can ride elephants and go hiking in the deep jungles.  We would marvel at their rich culture, and..” he interrupted her.

“And breathe the clean air as we drink tropical juices.”

“And burn our noses from all that sun exposure.”  She said, smiling as she threw her pillow at his face.

“And we’d go to Scotland and dance around in funny skirts and talk like this!”  he said in a dorky, horrible Scottish accent.  He tossed the pillow back and she caught it.

“And Ireland.  We’d picnic on their rolling green hills, and drink fresh got’s milk, and sleep to the sound of them groaning nearby.”

He raised his eyebrow at her.  “Sure.”  he said.  “And don’t forget about Finland.”

“And Iceland, which is really green, and Greenland, which is really icy.”

She sat up, placing the pillow on her crisscrossed legs.  “We could go anywhere.”

“Anywhere.”  Her dad smiled.