100


I was born a hundred years old. I am now, and always will be a hundred years old. No one seems to understand this concept.

I am very old. My mind is very old. I think I got it from someone else, because they were all out of the new ones when I was created. I think they grabbed an old one and called it a day. And for that, I am eternally grateful. I know me. I am fully confident in who I am as a human person. I like my personality, and myself. I like things the way they are.

But I am a hundred. I don’t comprehend jokes the same way as my peers. I don’t understand the social cues or conversation that they partake in. I can’t be a part of the things they want me to be a part of because I am too old.

Being a hundred makes being a college student very difficult. I have no inclination to do normal college student things. I cannot relate to my peers in the slightest. I find myself searching out other very old people to befriend. Unfortunately, they don’t seem to be overly plentiful.

My people from home are old like I am. Whether they were born that way, or life made them that way is their’s to tell. I love them, because they understand that I can’t do things the same way other people can. I can’t bring myself to try and explain these concepts to the new people here. It’s too difficult and they tend not to understand. And that is painful to explain, and watch them not grasp it. And that makes me very sad.

I am perpetually a square peg in a round hole. I am okay with that. I just wish there were more square pegs to talk to. I’m sure I’ll find them. It’s just going to take longer than I’d planned.

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