I wear ramen sweatpants at least once every two weeks.
No, I’m not messing with you and yes, they are glorious. The pants are pretty much as you would imagine. They feature a close-up image of ingredients often found in ramen, with the “ramen noodle soup” and “chicken” labels at the top. The pants are really comfy, but most people wouldn’t be caught dead in them.
Wearing weird pants isn’t the only thing that separates me from others. I grew up feeling like a major outsider because I never really fit the same mold that my peers did.
I have always had a big personality. Teachers knew me as the energetic student who danced in class, spent hours on presentations and generally tried to make people smile.
Underneath my incredibly bubbly personality, I was riddled with anxiety.
I didn’t fit in and I didn’t know how to. Even among my friends, I felt like a third wheel. I tried to think like my peers but it just didn’t work. People called me weird all the time. I tried to reclaim the label by laughing about being odd, but there was an internal pang of loneliness I couldn’t shake.
I felt like an alien among other people and compensated by being more over the top. This was seen most blatantly in my outfits (thus introducing the beloved ramen pants).
If I don’t fit the mold, why even try?
I was bullied a lot for both my clothes and personality. Despite pretending not to care, hearing the same things over and over again was exhausting. It felt like everywhere I went people were telling me I was weird, stupid, ugly and didn’t belong. After a while, it’s hard not to wonder if their comments are right.
I began overcommitting myself everywhere. I involved myself in club after club at school. I worked often in the school building from 6:30 in the morning until 10 at night.
I was driven by anxiety. I just wanted to stop feeling like a tumor in society. If I just did enough, was nice enough, helped enough, then maybe people would like me. They would have to, right?
It wasn’t until COVID-19 hit that I realized I had lost a big part of myself.
The world was shut down in the second half of my freshman year of high school and I was left to reflect on who I was when I couldn’t throw myself into activities non-stop. Yes, I have a big personality, but I am not the overarching ball of intense wildness I pretended to be.
I worked so hard to think about everything besides myself that I didn’t even know what I liked to do for fun. I like being busy, but I became such a workaholic that I lost part of my identity.
In the end, I learned that you are not what you do for other people.
I feel like a hypocrite saying it, but it’s true. You do not need to accomplish or give away anything to be of value. You can help people and make them smile without it pulling away from your personality.
To be honest, I still don’t know exactly who I am, and I bet you don’t know who you are either. At least be what you do know.
You don’t have to understand it all. Sometimes you just have to accept the unknown and hold on to what you do understand. Holding onto the little core truths about myself keeps me anchored amidst life’s constant changes.
The little truths may seem insignificant, but they add up to make you who you are.
Here is what I am sure of so far: my name is Jessie and I’m a bookworm. I like biking and writing. I make random fake websites as a hobby. I am an oddball and don’t always fit in, but I am learning to be okay with it. I am a complex mix of lightheartedness and depth. I care very deeply and quickly about lots of things and people. I wear ramen pants regularly because they make me happy and sometimes they make other people happy too.
These are little truths of myself I’ve learned to find solace in, and I hope you find yours too.
