Who were we to believe? Who were we to understand?

I've got to admit that I can be quite the snobby asshole most people think I am. The fact that I know the conclusions where people jump to as soon as they find out where I come from, what my last name is or just that I've got a lot of money really seems to amuse me. I might be also someone who judges before knowing, like most realistic human beings; smart enough to notice and intelligent enough to not deny it.

I think the first time I saw a homosexual I didn't really know what to do.

Again, having been raised to make people admire me and want to have something to do with me, I knew how to handle the awkwardness I was feeling as I saw this couple of girls holding hands and sharing soft kisses. But, as a guy, I know you're thinking of a question of sexual nature. "Just how did you 'feel' when you saw them?"

I can tell you that regardless of just how I always seemed to be a little bit ahead of my age, I didn't yet find two girls kissing very attractive. I found it interesting and intriguing. Then again, at the age of eleven, when my room was completely decorated with games, and toys (still), I admit that all I knew was that kissing was what boyfriend and girlfriend did, which brought me to the questioning of what that really meant.

If a boyfriend is supposed to be a boy and girlfriend is naturally meant to be a girl, then why were those two girls doing that? Were they going against the law or was it against nature? Maybe they weren't going against anything and again, I was jumping to conclusions.

Something I remember was that one of the girls looked very much like a boy. She looked messy with a pair of baggy jeans and a huge t- shirt. At first I thought it was a boy with a small body frame, and the short hair didn't help much with pointing me towards the right direction, but as soon as she turned around and I saw the girly face, the full lips, the make-up and the barely visible breasts which proved me otherwise.

What brought me the interest to write about this was the fact that right after walking out my neighborhood and into the once again crowded streets, I was met with people of all sizes, colors, reaction patterns, lifestyles and such, and I couldn't help but to think about what I thought of normal.

While I consider I have a normal yet privileged life and currently hold friendships with more than one person who differs from the "straight" standards, I might be the complete opposite of normal for many.

I believe that if you are someone who lives with financial problems or just never has enjoyed of many things only money can bring, that only pity would make you think you're not normal.

When all you know is what you see, then that is normal. When there comes the time when you meet something you had previously not seen: that is the moment when the questioning begins.

Well, I do believe I created a mess filled with jumping as I wrote this, I hope my message is once understood. It might then be forgotten, but with one time I am completely filled.

I couldn't hear my steps as I walked. The harsh sounds around me made up for it though.

The beauty salon I was currently working at was really just maybe twenty minutes away from home, so I figured I had time to kill.

I took my cell phone out of my right front pocket and clicked on the screen. Watching it light up I began thinking about just how much technology had evolved when there was a time the biggest invention was a cup. I wondered for a few seconds who I could probably call. In the end, it was the usual name the one that popped up in my mind.

"Hey. 'Sup?" A smirk was all I could give as I recognized that groggy tone.

"Just woke up, huh? Lazy fuck." I cleared my throat after saying that. Just as I waited for him to retort and reached for my cigarettes I noticed I had left my lighter somewhere. Though I actually stopped for a second to pray I hadn't left it at the library, I decided to drop the worrying and focus on the ranting which had begun filling my ears.

"That's cool, man."

"You didn't listen to a fuckin' word I'st said, did ya'?" That was Su.

Su, short for Suigetsu, was the first bisexual I ever actually met. Not just saw him, we met, talked, hung out, and laughed for years. It was only a couple months ago that he confessed to me that he was not only into girls.

Though I knew him well, I don't think I had ever seen that coming. Not from him at least. The guy was tall, he has light hair, fit, I guess you could say that easy on the eyes and that much I can admit. He was an artist and pretty rich too. He lived with his dad and his aunt and uncle on a tall penthouse just a couple neighborhoods away from mine.

We met at school when I was thirteen and I'm pretty sure even then I thought he was one poor guy. He always wore, and still does, whatever he found on the floor from the day before. He had two maids but didn't allow either of them to go into his room and would rather leave his food and clothes to rot together in there, thus he never looked decent.

The day he came out to me we had been talking casually about a so called date he had been so excited for since the beginning of the week prior. He was telling me about how 'fuckin' awesome' it had been and about what they did, when he made the mistake of using an incorrect pronoun.

I had asked him where they had gone afterwards and he excitedly answered "oh, he drove us back to my place and we just hung out for a while." When I stopped him to question the 'he' and laugh about it a little, thinking he had made a mistake I could tease him about, he just looked at me and said "what?" while looking pale.

I don't know if it was because I knew him well or because his eyes said it all. Maybe it was both, either way, I asked him if he had gone on a date with a guy and he guiltily turned away.

That's when acceptance comes in.

"No, man, sorry, just noticed I lost my lighter." Walking a couple more blocks as he asked me why I had lost something as sacred as his beautiful neon green lighter, I arrived to a local drugstore and walked inside to buy a new one.

"Chill, man, it's probably in my room. So what you're doing today?"

I have always had my antisocial moments. Those times when I did not want to see anyone, did not want to talk to anyone, and just wanted to be by myself. Not because of anger, sadness or depression, I just enjoyed it at times. Somehow, this guy managed to break that thick ice.

It was like he used the sharpest knife to cut the thinnest sheet of paper. I didn't even feel it, but he was always there, and I never really did care. It was a company that filled the spaces. It was as if it made up for my silent moments and covered with bright colors every blank space I always left. To an extent, I believe I had always enjoyed said company.

We agreed to meet later; he said it would probably be okay to meet when I was done at the salon; sounded good to me.

The feeling barely felt like the touch of a petal falling from a tree, grazing you as you walk and the wind blows it in your direction. The impact was so unreal it felt as though it was some sort of special dream where I could not tell I was asleep yet, everyone else knew I was. Had the sensation been stronger, I would have realized sooner; would have moved on before it caught me. Now I can no longer think as an unknown person; as a safe self-absorbed man. I can no longer rejoice in the benefits of anonymity; now I must openly share my beliefs, my thoughts, and what I feel. I need not to share them –that I know- yet I know I must, for I have grown too comfortable with the sharing of them.

I think it's kind of ironic how people love to defend their point of view when someone else disagrees with them, and how they can find the best ways, phrases, and examples to fight back and argue how they are right and you're just not. Still when the time comes when you are proven wrong, when your argument is completely gone, you can swiftly shift sides, and people will understand. Even if it was done out of loss, people will smile and be glad because you joined their side.

I was sitting by the employers lounge, writing, ignoring the fact I was supposed to be doing some work. I don't think I can ever really explain this need to write. Even when my hand's cramped, I even enjoy watching the ink fill the pages slowly, the way my own hand moves but at the same time feels as if it wasn't my own; the way those letters suddenly appear while I'm not entirely aware of them.

Finally deciding it was time to get moving, I once again closed my notebook and stood up. Letting my leather jacket fall off of my shoulders, I turned around and glanced at the costumers who were currently walking in.

A tall blonde girl and a tanned blonde guy walked in. Though her expression, and her looks overall screamed snob, his didn't. In fact, he looked very casual. I took my time eyeing him up and down, trying to figure out his life story without having to talk to him about it.

I find it funny how I can go and analyze someone for so long, and enjoy it so much while I can just not pay attention to people some other times. I wonder what it really is like to see and to pay attention. What have we missed throughout our lives because we were looking at something else –making it our priority- when we could've been finding something new.

I walked towards them and leaned on the counter in front of them. "How may I help you?"

Man, that girl was hot. I had expected a huge smile; instead I got a medium sized smirk and a little bit of lip biting. "Well, hey there," why deny the fact that the way her voice curled around her made me feel my skin tingle? Her voice was rather low and so very slow "My friend here would like to get his hair dyed."

She stopped to give him a quite sexual look. Had she been looking at me directly, I'm pretty sure I would've seen her eat me alive. "A very dark tone please." She turned to look at me in the eye, again, that look on her face, "you get to choose the color."

Though I know my face had stayed calm, composed, and professional, fuck was my body not on fire. Tight jeans, low cut white shirt, great attributes, and fucking amazing sex-appeal and confidence: I am done for.

My previously established ideas and opinions about myself and my maturity were now long gone as I was proven by my own hypocrite body that I could not even control day to day temptations and urges. Though smoking kept coming back to me and proving me wrong, the day before I had decided I believed I never really succumbed into most problems of the teenage mind. But there I was, trying my hardest not to look down her shirt, after all, if she decided she was going to have anything done on her hair too, I would have plenty of time to slip looks without her noticing.

It wasn't only my discomfort the one I felt. My empathy had immediately lit up as the other blonde boy stood there shifting on the same spot, worrying about something. Because of the way he looked at this girls ass at least twice since they had walked in, I'm sure it wasn't just because he was about to probably fuck his hair up.

I do believe that the intrigue of knowing someone starts with not having idea as for who that person is. Though I was captivated by the blonde girl, that boy was actually interesting enough to have me wondering who he was for the next hour. He seemed like the kind of person who gives off that "I'm interesting" vibe.

I understood that he had lost a bet he had made with the girl and now had to dye his hair a dark color. I thought it was a shame considering how cool his hair looked, but, hey, it's not mine to worry about.

I admit I lost most of my interest on the boy as soon as he opened his mouth and began talking and complaining and kept asking me shit about how he would look like, how his hair would end up, if the whole dyeing process would damage him, why his eyes were so itchy, why it smelled so weird, why this, that and anything else existed.

When I was finally done –and I would've taken less if he hadn't made it so difficult- I found the real me, the snobby, arrogant me coming out. He thought it was expensive what he had to pay for dyeing his hair. He looked at me almost as if saying "are you kidding me? I just went through all that and I have to pay this much?". In fact, he said it out loud, to me, in front of me, while looking at me.

I smirked, "well, if you had any class, you would have money."

And why do we call looks what surrounds a human being if it does not allow us to see what in reality is to be seen and what should be looked at?

In reality, how can we exist if we are not exactly sure of what we need to exist? If we don't know what we are made out of, where we've truly gone and were we're going, then how can we know what we are? And how can we be without knowing that?