Ahhh… the joys of watching someone live their life, and picking away at their brain. What a pleasure! What a blessing! The thrill of watching someone move, to hear them speak, listen and dissect their words and the fluctuating tone of their voice, is quite entertaining. How much do we speak when we speak? And if actions speak louder than words, what story are they trying to say?
There are those who believe they understand the art of reading body language. The art of reading someone’s body movements, and being able to link it to their personality/mood. Arms closed? Emotions are closed. Forehead sweaty? Frustrated. But sometimes there’s more to it. Words spoken, words unspoken. That’s what I watch. That’s what I look for.
There’s a girl in my class: pretty, athletic, and very vocal. She’s not afraid to ask questions (even though 40% of them are dumb questions) and she has this air of confidence – you can see it in her stern and almost (overly) upright posture. But I could sense something in her… something wrong. It’s like I could see a beam of light bursting from a tiny crack in her personality. Naturally, I decided to investigate.
She frequently talks to guys in the class, leaning in slightly, talking in a very very friendly tone. Perhaps she’s just flirty. But if so, then why is she flirting with every guy? She even flirts with the not-so-good-looking guys – I know she can do better. But there’s a bigger reason: attention. And like all attention seekers, they seek it because they didn’t have enough of it before. I took a seat next to her to see if I could find out more.
Normal activity, nothing out of the ordinary. Then I turned my head, and looked at her shoes. And just at the corner of my eye, I could see her, seeing me, seeing her. And just then, she quickly tucked her feet under the table. Normal people don’t do that. Suspicious people do. People who are hiding something. I glanced over again to see what she was hiding, and there they were: scars – real scars.
Scars that looked like they were made by razor blades – and tons of them, all around her legs, and even her arms. These shiny old wounds stuck out like gold in a pile of mud, clear as the light of day. What does it say? What’s the story? Pain on the outside relates to pain on the inside. Similarly, I find it highly related to her supposed air of confidence. She works out, I can tell. But if this confidence is due to her hard earned/toned body, then the same applies: What is done on the outside is done to fix what is on the inside. Gotcha.
Now all I need to do is solidify my theory and I can go home knowing I solved a case. Step two: remove the attention. On day one, I helped her with a few math problems, put on my friendly hat, and left the class. And on day two, I ignored her completely. I didn’t even look at her. I could tell she was getting frustrated. She was longing for it, but I didn’t give it.
I wanted her to talk to me, and I was going to make her do it. So I slowly packed my things, at the same pace as her, in order to walk out at the same time. And just as I planned, she talked:
Her: Nice shirt
Her: What’s your name?
Me: Ranier, you?
Then she shook my hand with a very very firm grip. Case closed.