Sometimes, I feel myself to be interminably obnoxious. And I can never decide what it is about me that is so obnoxious – my manner of speaking, the jokes I try to make, my voice, my movements, my demeanor, my haughtiness, my diffidence, my always vacillating between two characters, or masking one behind another, my inauthenticity, my face, my laugh, the shiftiness of my gaze, my cowardliness, my sarcasm, my overzealous courtesy, my reticence… What is it? I cannot decide. But I know somehow, very certainly, that I am obnoxious. I try to become someone other than myself; but that only seems to make me more obnoxious, because then, I’m pretending – I’m a liar, and people don’t like liars. Yet, if I continue being myself, I continue being obnoxious. There is no escape. I am doomed to irritate everyone around me. I do not usually fuss over such matters, but this time is different. This time I cannot afford to appear obnoxious.