The Unspoken Truth
It was a rather quiet evening in the café – there were only a couple in their early thirties sitting quietly at the lounge chair waiting for their orders while flicking through magazines from the stack provided in the corner, the menus set aside.
There was a hustle as a small group of people walked in – their noise broke the tranquility and made the couple to look up.
They were a bunch of young, lively youth;, talking animatedly, and upon knowing the café was almost deserted, proceeded to make a big deal out of the table they were going to sit at. They were wrapped in their own bubble and speaking in an accent that was unmistakably metropolitan.
The woman who was reading the magazine looked up and noticed that the girl who was doing most of the talking was in her early twenties, very-average looking, thick-rimmed glasses and wavy undecided hair decorating her head. Her clothes were baggy, giving an impression she didn’t care much about her appearance. She was the one cheerfully trying to decide which table would suffice as their spot.
As soon as they setted down, the average girl started talking about the menu, thinking her thoughts out loud. The girl next to her didn’t say much. She didn’t have to; she was very attractive;, wearing almost no make up on her face, soft, shiny straight hair that she let down and was aware made her look more appealing, so she was always touching it, flicking it this way and that and let it cascade down her shoulders. Her clothes were casual but well-fitted. She held her mobile phone in her hand and sitting nonchalantly with her elbows propped on the table, demanding attention without having to ask for it.
From who? The two guys sitting with them, of course. What they look like is hardly important – same trendy hairstyle that all boys sport these days –full on the top and none on the sides, soft-colored tight-fitting shirts that screamed, “Look, I am a man but I am man enough to wear this baby-pink t-shirt!” and knee-length shorts and moccasins – no socks, you know the rule!
Now it was apparent that one of them was smitten to the pretty girl. He sat right next to her, a bit too close but still normatively acceptable as friends do. The pretty girl knew that she had his attention, so the more he looked at her, the more she would find her mobile phone interesting.
The average girl chatted on, asking the other guy sitting next to her side, whether he would be working this weekend. You can tell she was the friendly one; getting people to talk, as nice people do.
But that’s the thing about nice people isn’t it? They are nice because they are average looking. If they weren’t, she would end up like the pretty girl who was too engrossed with her Instagram. The pretty girl knew she didn’t have to be nice, anyway. It wasn’t a prerequisite, she just never had to make an effort, and you can’t really blame her for that.
The other guy sitting next to the average girl seemed to be interested with the pretty girl too. But he didn’t want to make the average girl felt bad, and he didn’t want people to think he was one of those guys who liked girls only for their looks, even though he did.
And that’s the thing about guys isn’t it? The nice ones choose the nice girls who are average looking because he knows he cannot get the pretty one, and yet he always wonders; what if? But he doesn’t want to be an asshole who only cares about the looks, even though he fancies the idea of having a beautiful girl linking her arm in his and having people stare in awe as he parades his trophy around.
The waitress approached them and started taking their order. The average girl and the two guys made their order as they politely waited for the pretty girl to finish reading the menu and make a decision; the waitress with her pen poised in the air waiting for a response, the two guys starting to get bored, and proceeded to check their notifications on their mobile phones.
After the waitress left, the pretty girl said something – obviously important, since they all responded. Ah, but of course – a group selfie! They all huddled together, trying to be as close as possible to the pretty girl who had her phone extended with one arm, making sure everyone would be in the picture.
The average girl smiled, but her eyes looked anxious. She knew sitting next to her pretty friend was a bad idea. But that’s the thing about nice people isn’t it? Nice people have evil thoughts too. But they don’t show it, because if they do then they lose they only thing that makes people like them.
The pretty girl smiled, loving the way the camera captured her beauty, loving the attention she was getting from the guy sitting next to her, and slightly worried that the other guy wouldn’t find her as attractive, so she shook her head a bit, letting her hair framed her face and made her look more angelic.
But that’s the thing about beautiful people, isn’t it? They are used to getting people’s attention, they worry as soon as one person doesn’t, regardless the importance of this person in their life.
One, two and three shots were taken. The pretty girl couldn’t wait to upload it right away to her Instagram account. Crop, filter, effect, done. It would be one of the many photos of her and her fabulous friends, in which of course, she was the prettiest one. And of course she would tag her average friend – a gentle reminder of who she was and what her position was in their so-called group of close friends.
But that’s the thing about humans, isn’t it? We have the need to put people in positions, by making ourselves more superior – either by wealth, looks or power. We are no different than a pack of dogs – dominating each other to be the leader. Some come out stronger than the others, some just yield to fate and accept that they can never be the superior one.
While the youths were engrossed with their mobile phones, two exotic looking girls walked in, all dressed up to the nines in Uluwatu dresses. They were carrying their helmets with them – odd, but somehow made them looking for eccentric – as they got themselves seated.
The pretty girl noticed those girls from the corner of her eyes, and felt attention slowly being diverted from her. They were tall and strikingly gorgeous, wearing beautiful dresses that would just make her look like a midget in comparison, and riding on motorcycles wearing heels – truly a skill not many women can master! The average girl on the other hand didn’t make a big deal – after all, she was used to being around people who were far more superior looking than her.
But that’s the thing about life isn’t it? Once you feel highly superior, something reminds you that there is always someone out there who is more, much more superior than you are. It’s a never-ending cycle, and it’s a battle we will always lose.
So, my question is – are you the pretty girl? Or the average girl?
As of me, I know who I am. I am the woman who just finished reading the magazine and is now devouring the Carnivore hamburger with her husband.