First impressions are necessary for people; it helps them understand who to approach and who to avoid. I know that it can be misleading and that a person’s opinion can change afterwards, but I’m someone who cannot get over a bad experience with it.

My first encounter with Wendy happened to be one that left a bad note within me to the point that I cannot deal with her today. I know it’s terrible for someone to be biased because of a negative first impression, but I am someone who does it. It’s hard for me to brush it off.

It all started last year. My routine of only going outside to get the mail had been the same. All I did was go get my delivered groceries and that was when I stumbled upon Gustav for the first time. I had never seen him before; despite never owning a dog, I knew that his sweet demeanor meant that he had an owner. The receptionist had told me that his owner hadn’t been home for a few days; the receptionist had been caring for Gustav for the past few days because she was worried about him.

Gustav was sweet, so I had given him a small piece of a banana that was in my bag; as soon as he ate it, someone yelled and ran towards me.

“What the hell did you just feed him?” That was how I first met Wendy. She was angry, and it made me feel nervous. My hands were full from clutching my grocery bags, so I couldn’t reach out and write in my sketchbook. I felt very defenseless.

The receptionist had defended me by getting angry at Wendy. “Don’t yell at Eugene like that! He was just feeding your dog a banana!”

Wendy’s scowl disappeared and a surprised expression had replaced it. “Oh, it was just a banana. Why didn’t you say so?” She chuckled as if it was no big deal. Suddenly, she started to stare at me for a long time as if she had found someone like me mesmerizing.

I remembered looking at her to take a good look at her. Wendy is East Asian like me; I think she’s Korean. She had sharp eyes, a sharp nose and puffy cheeks and lips that gave her a pudgy cat look. Her clothes were just casual hoodies and leggings, but her aura made them look stylish. Her short hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, showing off her clean forehead. She had a big camera bag dangling from her shoulder. I know I shouldn’t judge, but I dislike photographers. They give chills.

She then leaned back and smiled. “Dark hair and eyes, pale skin, the constantly tired expression, you look like a ghost!”

I remembered my heart feeling like it had been scratched when she had said those words to me. I am a bit sensitive when it comes to my looks; looking like a ghost was a common thing I heard growing up, but it was also a strong source of teasing.

“Hey, I like how you look! Can I ask you to be a model for me?”

I shook my head furiously to reject her offer. I hate getting my picture taken. Why was she trying to get me out of my comfort zone? Despite my answer, she did not back down at all.

“I am not a photographer! I am an artist! I just want to paint you! I think you look great! That ghostly look of yours makes for an excellent portrait!”

Her persistence was annoying, so the only solution I came up with was to run away from her. I ran to the stairs, but Wendy had pursued me. She managed to catch me on the second floor by grabbing my shoulder. The fear I had within me caused me to shove her off of me by throwing one of the grocery bags to her roughly; with a lighter load, I ran up the stairs as my life depended on it and locked my door as soon as I entered my apartment. 

I had placed the groceries aside and curled up into a ball. Her persistence had scared me. Wendy had reminded me of the girls in my old neighborhood who had teased me in the past. They had said things about how I wasn’t manly enough or that I didn't seem like a boy, which had hurt my pride as a male. I was young at the time, so it doesn’t bother me as much as an adult anymore, but what I had feared the most from those girls was their expressions. They would look at me and then talk behind my back. Wendy didn’t seem like the gossiping type, but her stares had reminded me of them.

I had hoped that would be the only instance of meeting Wendy until I learned that she was my next-door neighbor. She had not touched me or persistently chased after me since then, but she would ask me to reconsider every time our eyes locked, calling me “Mr. Ghost Man” like how she did earlier today. One year since that day flew by like the wind.

While my first impression of her had been horrible, it did not mean Wendy is a horrible person. She’s friendly, outgoing and passionate about art; her only negative trait would be her tendency to talk without thinking at times, which makes her seem insensitive. She’s not a bad person at all; I just avoid her because I cannot deal with her.

I envy her, though. She is able to be honest and straightforward with herself. Every time I reject her offer, she keeps bouncing back. Such a trait is viable in today’s society, but it is not welcomed here within my boundaries.

Will there be a day when I can be like her? I want to be like her. I want to talk about things without any care in the world. I want to raise a dog and take it out for walks where I can talk to passing people in a carefree manner. Truthfully, I avoid her because I envy her. She has qualities that I do not possess and it made me realize how pathetic I am compared to her.

I can always leave these boundaries, but I choose not to. I have drowned myself in this loneliness to the point that it became the normal world to me. I have deteriorated so much to the point that I do not possess the strength to move forward.

The boundaries that I have created are both my greatest companion and my worst enemy.