The Outsider

So I already posted a mini rant about this on my page, because my brain refused to keep quiet, but Insta captions are too tiny for everything I wanted to say. So here I am, writing the full blog because obviously I have more to say. I always have more to say.

Today was supposed to be a normal day. Study psychology, pretend to be productive, maybe take notes, maybe highlight four lines and call myself a scholar. Instead, I ended up sitting with The Outsider in my hand and somehow 70 pages later I’m in the middle of an identity crisis and also strangely peaceful. 

I bought this book thinking it might be one of those autobiography types where the author gives advice they don’t even follow. But this one doesn’t feel like that. It feels like Vir just sat down across from me and started talking. It’s like conversing about the outsider with the outsider as an outsider. Wild. 

And maybe that’s why it hit so hard. Because I’ve always sort of been this person who doesn’t fully fit into the generation I’m in. Not in the cringe “I’m not like other girls” way. 

Just in the normal, slightly confused, slightly old-soul way. I grew up/ still am (relax girl you’re not 70) in a home where parents actually spoke with me, joked with me, argued with me, treated me like a person even when I was 10. And it changes you, whether you realise it or not. It makes you question everything. It makes you talk more. It makes you think more. And honestly, it makes you feel a little like an outsider when the rest of your generation communicates through half sentences, emojis, and whatever sound is trending on Reels.

Reading The Outsider felt like someone finally said out loud the things I’ve felt but never fully phrased. I’m only 70 pages in, but it’s already giving me weird déjà vu. Like that Charles-and-Bill-from-B99 level of “wait why does this feel like me but older, taller, and with more air miles”. I’m not out here getting into trouble or shifting countries every time the wind blows, but on a smaller scale, that feeling of being a little misplaced, a little different, a little “wait is everybody else seeing the same world I’m seeing?” feels weirdly familiar.

And then there’s the classic line every teenager gets served: “Ambika, you’re 16, you have your whole life ahead of you.” Yes, thank you, I know. But that doesn’t make being an outsider in my own circle feel any less outsider-ish. Being young doesn’t mean the world magically feels softer.

 When someone tells me to be quiet or tone it down or stop talking, I swear my entire system shuts down. I genuinely need to talk. I need to express. I need to write. It’s not a hobby. It’s survival. I am dramatic, loud, and a people’s person. I need to let my opinions out in the world. It’s not validation. It’s me feeling less pent up. 

I think that’s why the book hit me. It made me feel like maybe I’m not overthinking or imagining things. Maybe I really do see the world differently and that isn’t a defect. It’s literally how I’m built. 

And maybe one day I’ll write a book too. Not because I want to be an author or because it sounds aesthetic, but because I’ve always had things to say. 

I learn my exam topics by pacing around in the room and making it a speech, with my furniture as audience, what else do you expect? 😂

And honestly, I don’t always fit in. I don’t party, I don’t drink, IN THE WAY MY GENERATION DOES. Ofcourse I party, ofcourse my parents are okay with an occasional 15 ml.

I don’t listen to half the music my friends do because. I talk too much. I feel too much. I run in old school thought. Not orthodox just CHALANT. I think too much. And yet, somehow, those are the things that make me feel like myself. Even if being myself sometimes means feeling like I’m standing five hundred steps outside the main circle watching everyone else vibe to something I can’t hear.

So yeah, if you’re like me, even a little, if you’re younger or older or somewhere in between, and you’ve ever felt like you’re slightly off compared to everyone around you, read this book. It’s not pity. It’s not philosophy. It’s honest. It’s messy. It’s comforting. It makes you feel like being different isn’t a problem, it’s just the version of you that people don’t always understand immediately.

I’m still in a daze from last night’s performance, still replaying the whole show, still emotionally everywhere, but this book sort of sat me down and reminded me that maybe being an outsider is not the worst thing in the world. Maybe it’s actually the most interesting place to be.

Anyway, this is the full blog since Insta told me to shut up after a few lines.

And like I said, I don’t do quiet very well.

As ever,

Ambika