Rehabilitated Socialite

Let me explain what it means to be a “rehabilitated socialite” – a term I’ve coined, because that’s how I feel. It’s been a journey, and I’ve come to terms with the fact that some things in life are harder than they should be. And let me tell you, interracial marriage is one of those things. I’ve never been more aware of people’s opinions than I am now. You can see it in their faces – the judgment, the unspoken thoughts. It’s exhausting. And honestly, it’s led me to retract from social situations altogether.

I live in a complex that’s pet-friendly, which is wonderful, and I’m grateful for the peaceful little bubble I’ve built here. We have our own yard, it’s quiet, and for the most part, we’re left to ourselves. But here's the catch: we’re renting. Even though we were offered to buy the property, I’ve realized, over time, that I don’t want to invest in this place. And I think that’s when the alienation started.

I’ve become extremely unfriendly, and to be honest, maybe that’s my fault. The truth is, people in the complex just don’t seem to like us. I’ve never been over-friendly, but I guess I’ve withdrawn so much that now, even the simplest gesture, like sending the load-shedding schedule in the group, gets no reaction. No thank you. Not even a simple acknowledgment. And I’ll be honest, that stings.

Why should I keep trying? It’s hard to keep putting myself out there when it feels like no one cares. I could just not give a damn, right? Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to do. The longer I live here, the less I care. I’ve been trying to remain compassionate, trying to practice my Buddhist teachings, but sometimes, people really do test your patience. The anger I feel boils over, especially when I wonder if my skin color is part of the reason we’re treated differently.

Lately, I’ve felt dead inside. I’ve lost the enthusiasm I once had for socializing, for even leaving the house sometimes. I’m tired of caring. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s a form of self-preservation to not get involved in things that drain me. But still, there’s this nagging part of me asking why I should be kind when kindness is never reciprocated. I guess I’m at a crossroads.

On a positive note, I’m starting a night job tomorrow. To be honest, I’m not enthusiastic about it – I’m not sure I’m ready for the late hours or the shift work, but I’m going to give it a try. The thought of something new, something different, gives me a little spark of hope. Maybe this is a step out of the bubble I’ve built around myself. It might be exactly what I need to feel something again, even if it’s just a flicker.

But right now, it feels like I’m done with humankind. It’s not a thought I embrace, but it’s the truth. People don’t deserve my kindness. At least, that’s how I feel at this moment. I’ve been kind. I’ve given and given, only to be met with indifference or worse – judgment. So why bother?

In the end, I know it’s a phase, a part of the journey. I don’t have all the answers right now, and that’s okay. But I’ll keep moving forward, trying to find that balance between protecting my peace and remaining open to the possibility that things could change. Maybe tomorrow’s job will bring a new perspective. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll find the courage to break free of this isolation and let people back in – on my own terms.

For now, I’m just taking it day by day. I guess sometimes, we need to feel “done” before we can rebuild ourselves, piece by piece.