Not my type

It's not false modesty when I diffuse people's compliments on how I look.  In the gym, it has ranged from "nice lookin' man" to "hot Asian" or "mighty cute" to "the nicest smile this state has ever seen."  Sometimes I'd fake a smile, say thanks, or look at them quizzically.  Because I don't get it. I remember what my friend used to say: kung mabenta ka sa ibang bansa, ibig sabihin pangit ka sa Pinas kasi gusto ng foreigners exotic.

I can live better with that rather than a string of compliments that I don't consider real.  I've known myself consciously for a million years, stared reluctantly and begrudgingly at the mirror every waking moment, and I never saw what others did.  I never liked what I saw and I've simplified a lot of things, like shaving my hair regularly, so that I won't have to spend half my life staring at a mirror.

I'm comfortable with my skin, but I'm just not my type.  If I were to walk into a bar or go into the gym and see myself, I would not notice me.  I would not stand out in a sea of faces.  I'd be too uninteresting and too plain for myself.  I appeal to very few people, while some people appeal to me more than the others.  That's just the way of the world.  No one is too ugly or too beautiful for everyone because types and tastes are different. Some like it handsome, others like it cute, and there are others who don't even bother with those.  With the right amount of chemistry and sizzle, there are those who play against type when love comes in and everything else, including clothes, gets thrown out of the window.  Hmm.