Rejection is a plump, chubby, biggish, roly-poly kind of guy. It’s that guy that sits between you and anything you want, taking up two whole seats instead of one. He snores and drools on you while he sleeps through the long and torturous journey, soiling your clothes, your feelings. Then he pushes you aside.
Rejection doesn’t hold back or tells little white lies. He doesn’t believe in buttering anything up and thinks you should man up and move, work, love or run the other way. He slaps you on the face and tells you to “wake up!” He’s the one that injects curiosity in your brain at night while you sleep. He stares at travel tickets, full-time jobs, boys, girls, movies, books and animals and asks you questions no one else dares to ask. He pushes you if he feels you should be walking faster.
Rejection is not a handsome guy. Nooooooo he’s not. His face is ugly and unfriendly, and he always says the wrong thing, usually at the wrong time. He doesn’t care. That’s what he’s made for; to tell you how unfit you are and how much better others are, to make unfair comparisons and make monsters of the unchosen lessons of your life. He walks with horse blinders on his eyes and sees no tears in your eyes even if he’s walking by your side. No, the fellow’s not very nice.
He’s misunderstood most of the time. But in the end he doesn’t hang out too long. He tries to point you in the right direction, but he only does it once. It’s up to you to see it and take the opportunity in your own hands. In the end, the plump, pot-bellied, butter roll little bastard might turn out to be…not too bad.