I wanted you to know everything about me by Eruteya (Teya) Onyemelukwe

Producing a Substack article in the past few weeks has been on the same difficulty level as giving birth, not that I would know. The advice my dad gave me on our phone call yesterday was to write an article with a very standard structure—intro, body, and outro.

I feel that would make my writing very plain, as my right hand and $2 pen thrive off the concept of throwing random yet beautifully articulated ideas in the middle of a paragraph of merely vague expressions.

That is how I function. People who enjoy reading literature in that style are the ones I’m aiming to attract, and I don’t want to do it any other way, really.

Hailey, the other day, while we were walking from badminton, asked me if I felt like the manner in which I offer information about myself is one-sided. I admitted yes.

The truth of the matter is, I feel as though I’ll be perceived as shallow and boring if I have nothing deeply personal to share with someone I just met. There it is - my unethical method of gaining validation and forming short-term connections with the people around me - yielding more than what’s needed to someone who values absolutely nichts of it (I am German, so I can say that without it being culturally insensitive).

It can be seen as an insecure and self-destructive act, which it factually is. I don’t know, though, I’m for some reason okay with that unfair exchange, so okay with it to the extent that the singular pressure I feel to stop is the standards and demeanour of those around me.

I can only fantasize about having as much self-control and respect as “that’s none of your business”, “I’m not telling you that”, “you don’t need to know”. Where are my boundaries? Where do I draw the line? What’s not good enough and what’s too much?

The bare and honest answer is nothing. It is purely situational, based on who I’m interacting with, where I’m interacting with them, and what month of the year it is, as my morals shift with the seasons. These are just a few of what should be an inviolable set of rules.

I promise I’m not as calculated as the last few paragraphs suggest. And though my stating this appropriates the very idea of innocence, it is coming from a more pure and child-like desire, rooted in my early experiences, to please people.

This, strangely though, has nothing to do with my upbringing and or the environment that was created for me in my childhood. I was taught to speak up for myself, to be vocal but polite when I disagree, to say no when I’m uncomfortable, but through all of those teachings, my most overwhelming concern was if that was all nice. Is it nice to disagree with someone’s opinion? Will she think I’m nice if I withhold my social security number?

I sense this piece drifting between ideas, so what I’ll end off on is: I’m not a manipulator, I just want you to like me more than I like myself.