The amount of times I’ve gone out with men who have, at a point or another, said I was exotic is insane. Even when I was still only going out with people from my country, it happened. At first I rejected the adjective completely, partly because I’d always thought I was very plain, in an universal way almost, but also because there was something revolting, that sounded irrevocably and unapologetically objectifying.
But then, I decided to face it like a compliment on my character. Or maybe just a stone hard fact, an observation that I am just one of those people that are hard to place, hard to assign a home to. Who knows, first some it might have meant that I made my bed wherever I lay, while for others, I was too restless to ever truly close my eyes. Out of place, always, but never, ever out of sight or out of senses.
