The aversion at first sight!!

I don't know why. I walk into a room. I see a face. Something in me turns. Not slowly. All at once. A shutter closing. A door locking. A voice that does not speak but knows. Reject. Stay away. Do not engage.

Eighty percent. Maybe more. The faces blur into a crowd of something I cannot name. Asshole. Maniac. Egotist. The words come before I can stop them. Not spoken. Felt. A wave of aversion so strong it almost knocks me back.

I used to feel guilty. Who am I to judge? What gives me the right to reject someone before they have said a single word? I thought I was broken. I thought the problem was me. I thought I needed to fix myself. To be more open. More accepting. More loving.

Then I ignored the feeling. I went close to a few of them. The ones my body rejected at first sight. I gave them a chance. I told myself I was being unfair. I told myself everyone deserves to be seen.

I learned the hard way. They were exactly what my body knew they were. Assholes. Built of asshole stuff. Every layer. Every gesture. Every word. The rejection was not judgment. It was recognition. My body knew before my mind could catch up.

Now I watch. Not with guilt. With curiosity. The faces. The gaits. The hand gestures. You will not believe me if I tell you what I see. Maniacs. Egotists. People who have never once considered that the world does not revolve around them. People whose confidence is not earned. It is assumed. Like a birthright. Like a disease.

I overhear conversations. By accident. At first. Then I start to listen. The way they speak to their colleagues. The way they interrupt. The way they dismiss. The way they take credit and assign blame. The way they talk about others when others are not in the room. It is not subtle. It is not hidden. It is right there. In the open. They do not care who hears. They do not care who sees. They are the stars. The rest of us are extras.

They are dominating. Non respecting. Insensitive. They do not see the people around them. They see obstacles. Tools. Audiences. They do not ask questions because they do not care about the answers. They do not listen because they are already preparing their next statement.

The way they hold their phones on a call. Like the whole world is watching. Like they are a super mega star in a movie that no one else agreed to be in. The tilt of the head. The volume of the voice. The pacing. The pauses. It is not conversation. It is performance. And the performance is for an audience of one. Themselves.

It is neurosis. I do not say that as a diagnosis. I say it as a description. A pattern. A way of being that is so consistent, so predictable, so relentless that it cannot be anything else.

Temples. Churches. Movie halls. Hotels. Railway stations. Bus stations. Bikes. Cars. Television. Everywhere. These creatures are everywhere. The central point of the entire universe is them. They have never doubted this. They have never questioned this. They have never once considered that the universe might be indifferent to their existence.

I am awestruck. Not in admiration. In wonder. How is this possible? How can a person walk like they own the ground beneath their feet when they have done nothing to earn it? How can an autorickshaw driver walk like he is the first citizen of the universe? I have wondered a zillion times. I still do not have an answer.

This has nothing to do with gender. Men. Women. Both. Some are men disguised as women. Long hair and a dress are the only things that tell you their gender. Their walk. Their talk. Their arrogance. All masculine. Not in a biological sense. In a spiritual sense. The hardness. The certainty. The refusal to yield.

I wonder how they will bear a sacred life in their womb. How they will carry a child. How they will raise a child. What will that child become? What will that child absorb? The arrogance. The dominance. The performance. The refusal to see. I wonder. I do not have an answer.

I have nothing personal against these people. I do not know them. I do not want to know them. My body rejects them for no reason I can name. It is not logic. It is not prejudice. It is not a decision. It is a feeling. A wave. A shutter closing. A door locking.

My heart gets deprived. Drained of all its softness just by seeing them. The softness that weeps for dying cats. The softness that gives half its purse to a beggar. The softness that prays for strangers. It shrinks. It hides. It protects itself.

I do not know why. I only know that it happens. And I have stopped feeling guilty about it. The guilt was for a version of me that believed everyone deserved a chance. That version is gone. It was killed. By the very people my body tried to warn me about.

Now I trust the rejection. I do not explain it. I do not justify it. I do not apologize for it. I just... step back. I do not engage. I do not smile. I do not perform politeness for people who have never once performed it for anyone else.

Eighty percent. Maybe more. I do not know the exact number. I only know that when I walk into a room, I can feel them. The energy shifts. The air thickens. My body tightens. And I know. Without a word. Without a gesture. Without a single piece of evidence. Stay away.

I do not know why. I have stopped asking. The why is not mine to know. The feeling is mine to trust. And I trust it. More than I trust my own eyes. More than I trust my own mind. My body knows. My body has always known. I just did not know how to listen.

Now I listen. Now I step back. Now I protect the softness. The softness is the only thing that has ever kept me alive. And it will not survive another encounter with the asshole. So I keep it safe. I keep it hidden. I keep it for the ones who do not trigger the shutter. The twenty percent. The ones my body does not reject. They are few. They are precious. They are worth the wait.

The rest can walk their arrogant walk. Hold their phones like movie stars. Dominate their colleagues. Perform their lives for an audience of one. I will not watch. I will not engage. I will not be drained.

I do not know why. I only know that this is how it is. And I have stopped pretending otherwise.

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