Miss Judge

Supposedly, academic works are ruling my time right now. But I am doing otherwise.

While doing my usual lazing up/momentum charging, I abruptly read a couple of words on Facebook that hits me hard like a punch on the gut:

I’m so tired of being misunderstood by others. I’m just speaking out, but still misunderstood. Why?”

This has been said by a classmate of mine in high school, but for the privacy of that person, I will not place a name here.

Looking back, it seems to me that there have always been those people that were obviously out of place in the four sections that have become my Houses in high school. Whether it was because they were too cool to mingle with the majority or too weird to be given appropriate understanding, there were more reasons than one as to why they were seemingly excluded from groups that were supposed to house them in and make them a part of non-biological families.

This person I will not name was undeniably different, had interests that rarely coincided with others’, had characteristics that weren’t present in many people. And because of those, this person has been stamped on with a big, fat “OUT” by the judgmental society this person was living in.

I was somehow oblivious of the kind of treatment this person was being given. I didn’t care much. I was a “Promdi” (a Filipino colloquial term for “from the province”), and what I was experiencing didn’t really make much sense then. I was new to a world, and had no labels for the new things yet.

Eventually, I got out of that school with a vague memory of the person. Only the fact that equality in treatment seemed impossible.

You know what? I swallowed that. Chewed on it slowly, even. It took me four years to realize how judgmental this world I am living in really is. It took me four grueling years of seeing to learn that judgments, especially hasty ones, may ruin people’s lives. (Note: Try reading Jay Asher’s book,TH1RTEEN R3ASONS WHY. Now I know.)

I am not writing about this because I want to give the impression that I’m not a judgmental person. I honestly think I am.

I am writing about this because if I were the person being judged wrongly, I know it would hurt. To be seen as a person you are not, to be dictated upon by others for who they think you are, to be painted an image of you at a macroscopic level, instead of at the cellular, the one that’s within! It is wholly unfair, for the only one ever really capable of judging you is yourself. And the most crucial part there is, sometimes, you can misjudge.

So, I hope that before we talk about people, we would first consider how we arrived at our own opinion on them, whether it is conveying any point or sense, or only intending to send shock waves of pain.

And I believe that the words “judge” and “me”, when placed side-by-side, invite disaster. No, not because one might be disappointed by what other people might say about him/her, but because no one is deserving of judging anyone else apart from oneself.


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