What I Wish I Knew Before I Turned 22: Trying to Please People All the Time Is a Waste of Time

Note: This is the first of what I hope will be a series of blogs called “What I Wish I Knew Before I Turned 22” where I talk about my daily struggles as a young adult which will hopefully be enlightening to others as well.

It eats me up when I know that people don’t like me.

This would not be much of an issue if I were, say, 12 and in the husk of puberty, but I am 12 plus 10. Shouldn’t 22-year-olds know better?

Growing up, it was never “Be yourself” in my family. It was always “Put your best foot forward.” That is not to say that I lived in a household of phonies. On the contrary, I could always be myself at home, but I knew that outside of it, a certain image ought to be upheld: a perfect daughter, a perfect student, and etcetera.

Charm is a powerful thing. I learned early on that I did not need to be filthy rich or to have model good looks in order for people to like me, even though superficial things like these do catch attention. It’s all about charm. The girl with the most number of crayons (shipped all the way from Switzerland — supposedly) got everybody’s attention in grade school, but she couldn’t keep it up when her idea of charm was telling people she had everything they had — but more. The girl who looked like she never even heard of how awkward the teenage years ought to be for high schoolers got all the guys all googly-eyed, but all that ended when word got out that the results of her I.Q. was way below average. And then there’s that girl in the workplace who just demands attention the minute she opens her big mouth – pretty self-explanatory.

I think that charm comes in all shapes and sizes, and it would be too presumptuous of me to define a one-size-fits-all kind of charm. Instead, I’ll tell you that I’ve come to realize that there are 2 characteristics of charm that most people find irresistible: spontaneity and silence.

First, there’s spontaneity, or, on a broader scope, unpredictability. When you meet people for the first time, they already have some preconceived notion of you, before you can even say, “Good first impression!” To make matters worse, this preconceived notion is often negative, which is why you sometimes catch people giving you the good ol’ head-to-foot. The idea of spontaneity is to turn that negative notion to your advantage. If you have a resting face that makes you look like a complete dummy, say something smart – the latest technological advancement, the release of that literary critic’s new book, or even a cheesy Periodic Table of Elements joke. If you look like a snob, relate a story that proves you’re a normal person – how you got a bargain in a fancy-schmancy boutique, how you find a local celebrity crush-worthy (when everyone says otherwise), or how you think your poop smells worse than everybody else’s. The possibilities are endless.

Then, there’s silence. Silence how, you may ask? I’m referring to the conversational silence in this context, the kind of silence that says (metaphorically), “Please keep talking. I am interested with everything you have to say.” When I took up my communications courses in the university, I learned that an effective communicator is not so much a speaker as he/she is a listener. People love to talk, whether or not they admit it, so there’s absolutely no need to panic when we run out of things to say. Let other people talk. When they don’t, prompt them with questions. They’ll thank you for it.

And there you have it. The 2 characteristics of charm that most people find irresistible. Now, allow me to draw your attention towards the word “most” in the phrase “most people.” My theory on the dual characteristics of charm is not fail proof. I will present three cases to prove my point – in the vaguest and most off-handed way possible.

Case #1: My college professor

I majored in linguistics and literature and minored in education. Besides a solid hour of traveling from one college campus to another, I didn’t think taking two degrees at once was a problem until that one college professor came along. She gave me one go-over and decided right then and there to make my whole life (I know, I know, it was really just one full semester) as close to hell as possible. I had her for first period on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. She terrified the living daylights out of me with her room-locking ways, military-style attendance checking, and calling for homework submission in alphabetical order. She also had a strict no bathroom and water break policy. Did I mention this was in college and not in elementary? I tried to butter up to her, of course. And how do you get on a teacher’s good side? By getting good grades. I worked extra hard on her subject, hoping that if I got good grades, she’d like me. But no. She was the kind of teacher who’d say, “Remember that lesson in that prerequisite class which all you education majors took?” And I, being not an education major, would wear that stupid expression which only made her hate me more. I had dismal test results in her class. She continued to hate me all the way to the end of the semester. Probably longer, who’s to say? For the rest of my stay in the university, I still bumped into her in the corridors from time to time. We both pretended either did not exist.

Case #2: My work colleague

This woman just straight up hates me. There were dark hours when I thought I was paranoid over nothing, so it was actually kind of a relief when people started telling me to watch my back. She hates everything about me. She doesn’t like the way I talk AND the way I walk (I drag my feet. It annoys some people but not to the point of loathing me. Come on!) These days, I try to stay out of her way as much as possible. I even took to desperate measures and stopped talking altogether whenever she’s around, but she still hates me. Heck, I think if I were to petrify myself and cower in a corner, she’d still hate me. I might as well keep calm and carry on.

Case #3: My “friend”

I used to think she and I could be friends, but I know a war-peace-war cycle when I see one (blame it on my parents’ marriage). She’d pick a fight out of nowhere, and I’d literally be mooning over my guilt for days.

Three days ago, I went on an out-of-town trip with my work colleagues, and, once we had exhausted the usual conversation topic pool of work, home, and our respective love lives (of which I could contribute absolutely nothing), we got to talk about my chronic problem on trying to please people all the time.

It wasn’t an all-out lecture (we were in an ice cream parlor, after all), but it did get me thinking. It’s none of my business if people hate me or not – it’s theirs. Sure, I’m far from being perfect, but if my personal defects are not detrimental to society, I don’t see why I have to have a 180-degree transformation for their benefit.

I find that, even if I’ve had the same problem for years, the dynamics have changed now that I’m an adult. Back then, I could always opt for the easy way out and burn bridges without having to face the consequences. Things are different now. Bridges cannot be as easily burned, and though the circumstances now are comparatively more inconvenient than they were, they have also taught me to be more mature. It’s childish to run away from problems, especially when these problems are personified. Sometimes, you just have to put on a brave face and face the fact that you can’t please everybody.

When I was in elementary, I read a story about a farmer and his son and their donkey. The three of them had to travel for a long time. The farmer thought that it was too much for his young son, so he had him sit on the donkey. When they entered a town, somebody said that it was disrespectful of the boy to care more about his own comfort than his father’s, so the boy got down and the farmer rode the donkey. In the next town, somebody said that it was shameful for the father to care more about his own comfort than his son’s, so the farmer told the boy to join him on the donkey. In the town after that, somebody said it was cruel for the farmer and his son to mistreat their donkey the way they did, making it carry such a heavy load. And in the town after that, everybody had a good laugh when they saw a farmer and a young boy carry a donkey.

I guess some of life’s lessons really takes years to learn and re-learn.