The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Throughout my years in school, I've been reminded to stand up for myself, not to fall into peer pressure, and any other slogan that might sound good on the Disney channel. But after growing irritated at the people who are constantly in your face, persuading anyone who will listen about how amazing they are, I've wondered if there are some overlooked advantages about standing quietly, and listening.
Stephen Chbosky seems torn on the issue. In his novel, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, sixteen year old Charlie is the loveable nerdy kid who places himself in the background, only immersing himself when a friend is in need. He goes to the high school football games every Friday night, not because he is an avid watcher of football, but because he's seen that it's the "normal" thing to do, and he can watch his friends Patrick and Sam be normal alongside him. But if he was actively involved in the cheering, making out on the bleachers, or getting wasted (as high-schoolers tend to do), would he have been able to tell the reader that, "I look at the field, and I think about the boy who just made the touchdown. I think that these are the glory days for that boy, and this moment will just be another story someday because all the people who make touchdowns and home runs will become somebody's dad. And when his children look at his yearbook photograph, they will think their dad was rugged and handsome and looked a lot happier than they are" (53)? People who are directly in the action leave no time to reflect. They may appear happier, but the only thing we know for sure is that they are more ignorant. The football player getting that touchdown may not realize a moment's pleasure of downing after-game drinks will be years of regret. Charlie's friend and love interest Sam might look like she's in bliss by sucking face with that guy who could make girls swoon with a simple look, but her artificial relationships could scare her away when a decent man does come along. What blinds us, also chases us years later.
Yet too much reflection can bring us to a constant loop of playing catch up with our minds. There's that fine line of knowing someone and living through him/her. Charlie knows Sam so well, that he can catch her sadness a second before she even registers it. But his own discontent doesn't creep up on him until he's sent to the hospital. He lets his friend kiss him, even though he feels zero attraction, because he wants to be loyal; he knows his friend feels isolated and scared. But he tries to push away his own attraction to Sam because he thinks it will inconvenience her relationship with Craig--who, in the end, turns out to be a lying, cheating ass. Because Charlies spends so much of his time bouncing off of other people, he recognizes that "it's kind of like when you look at yourself in the mirror and you say your name. And it gets to a point where none of it seems real. Well, sometimes, I can do that, but I don't need an hour in front of a mirror. It happens very fast, and things start to slip away. And I just open my eyes, and I see nothing. And then I start to breathe really hard trying to see something. But I can't" (74). What is a strong physical reflection is only a minor emotional one for those of us experiencing the "wallflower syndrome."
I wouldn't consider myself a wallflower, but I have tried to convince myself that I don't exist. I'll be in my room, staring at my Johnny Depp poster like a normal person, saying, "Kira, you aren't real. You may go to bed an average high school senior, but you will wake up as Lindsay Lohan--with slightly less drugs and eating disorders."
Of course I'm kidding...I can already check the eating disorders part off my list. Ironically enough, that coincided with the rebellion phase, where I thought if maybe my physical body got miniscule enough, so would the rest of me. My body could realize that my mind was totally making sense, and I truly wouldn't exist. That didn't work too well; I ended up just getting hungry for chocolate cake. But I've seen some odd twists as I try to replace others' existence for my own. It probably confuses my exes to no end when I start watching football, and their favorite Five Finger Death Punch songs somehow end up on my ipod. It gets to the point where I stop feeling like their companion, and more like I've become them. As flattering as that sounds, people really don't want to date, or hang out with, themselves. And as soon as they fall out of my life, I'm lost. The girly magazines I used to devour seem immature and foreign. My body tenses up through yoga poses because I associate it with a friendship that will soon be distanced. Even my excitement for TV shows like True Blood come from my best friend's obsession with the show, and my obsession with having something to talk about.
On the flip side, there really are perks to being a wallflower. It's far easier to be in-tune with others' emotions. And by standing there, and listening, I grow to genuinely like and care about the people I talk with. How else would I know what its like to save someone's life from a fire, or write an entire novel in a month, or create a vest made out of chain mail? I wouldn't, unless someone gets cracking on that whole time travel thing. Having such an eclectic group of friends can be rewarding--as long as you subtract the expectation to have the same set of experiences. After all, if I thought that it was normal for all my friends and family to live in an Ashram for a month, they'd run away screaming. If I don't lose the hindsight that I too have something to offer, being the listener is an amazing setup for stories I otherwise wouldn't have even dreamed of.  If you're more of the listening sort, be proud, not wilting. Just be sure you can say your name in the mirror and not think the body you're staring at is a mirage. That would be slightly creepy if that were the case. And so, for wallflowers everywhere,

Namaste