Personal Fiction

Why don’t I like people?

It may sound cliché, and maybe it is, but the truth is that I don’t like people. It’s not that I’m antisocial, it’s just that I don’t like being with people. Over the years I have studied, practiced and improved a lot my mask of a normal person, but I can assure you that underneath it, there is still that child who dreads the idea of having to live with people around him.

The other day I remembered that child. It was two o’clock noon on a Saturday. I was unshaven and uncombed, as I always am when I can afford it. I was going over my shopping list mentally as I rode up the elevator in my neighborhood supermarket. I could hear the metallic sound of the cash register as it moved lazily up the shaft. A murmur and suddenly, WHAM, I was in the middle of chaos. People everywhere, running, screaming. White lab lights and beach disco music as a soundtrack. The security guard had me pegged the second I walked in. Maybe he looked like a stray bank robber, I don’t know. If I’d had a shotgun tucked under my coat, I would have shot the ceiling. Just to get a little quiet. Then I would have whispered “Excuse me” and immediately pressed the button again to go down to the garage. After getting into my car, I would have quietly and calmly walked out of there while people were still whispering upstairs.

But I didn’t have a shotgun, just some tissues stuffed with snot. So I bundled up inside my coat and walked through the minefield of wild supermarket kids. I dodged runaway carts and dodged parents with my eyes looking for someone to share something with. A couple of grandparents crossed glances with me, I don’t know if in solidarity or laughing at all I have left to suffer. My animal training took me from frozen pizzas to six-packs of beer. I passed by the chocolate section without a care in the world and didn’t even dare to look at the ice cream. I stocked up on seven boxes of gluten-free cookies and went straight down the pickle aisle, which is usually clearer. There I stalked the cashiers, evaluating between the fastest, the least jammed and the least talkative. I did the math and off I went.

Yes, I’m one of those who would shop at the supermarket with sunglasses, but I don’t have enough self-esteem to do it, but I would enjoy it. I know I would. Someday I will.

I lick my wounds narrating this true story. Every day the same thing happens, and every day I put layer after layer of cement and plaster on my structure to isolate myself from people. The truth is that writers are not all asocial, some even seem to enjoy social events. Just look at guys like Vargas Llosa who seem to move masterfully among photographers and crowds. I try it too, playing at being someone else. But sometimes, even at parties, in the middle of the epicenter of laughter, I look at that piece of garden, almost in the dark, where the only steady sound is the chirping of crickets. I imagine it in silence, listening to the murmur of insects combined with nothingness, and everything falls silent. Then I put on another drink, and laugh like a savage, but in the background, that little piece of dark garden remains. With room for one person, maybe two. No more.

Just because someone seems to be moving smoothly at a social event doesn’t mean they are outgoing and having a good time. He may not suffer, just as a tightrope walker crossing from one building to another does not suffer. He is in tension, he enjoys it too, but he does not relax. He is trained, motivated and with a clear objective. However, I would be happy living most of my life in an unpopulated country. No parties, no queues, no pushing, no schedules, no red lights. I am still recovering from my trip to Japan, where it was impossible to be alone and silence was a mere mirage.

It’s not that I hate people, or that I’m a wretch devoid of empathy, I’d be a psychopath, I just can’t stand people when they exceed a certain number. I’m fine with threesomes, but I start to feel a certain discomfort when there are four of us. When the group exceeds ten, it happens to me like cheap fridge magnets, I fall hopelessly, and I need to run as far away as I can. In larger groups, I look for the corners and finally the door to get away.

So, if you ever run into someone like me, who tells you that they are asocial, and that they like solitude, and they do it in the middle of the dance floor, with their sunglasses on and a little tipsy. Maybe it’s true. Appearances can be deceiving.

Unlock the shadows of 23rd-century Paris. Dive into a cyberpunk thriller where secrets rule the city and trust is the rarest currency.

Ready to step into the future?

Follow the journey of one of Southern Europe’s most acclaimed living artists—a man haunted by his own demons and addicted to Trank, the universal drug. Through his eyes, witness the most ambitious adventure in history: a one-way voyage to the stars aboard a generation ship. Are you ready to step into the unknown?

Click here for more information