There was a time I couldn’t enter a room without making it laugh.
Not because I wanted attention.
But because it felt safer when people were smiling.
If I could keep them focused on the twist, the wit, the timing—
They wouldn’t look past it.
They wouldn’t see me—at least not the parts I wasn’t ready to show.
I used to call that skill.
I still do.
But the motive behind it?
That’s what’s shifted.
Back then, the humor moved faster than I did.
It gave me space to breathe, to assess, to stay ahead of discomfort.
I don’t think anyone saw it as fear.
And honestly, neither did I—until I sat in enough quiet to realize
how much of my voice was volume,
and how little of it was presence.
The strange part is—I never lied.
Even my antics were true.
But they weren’t all of me.
They were the version of me that could be consumed in quick bites
and laughed off before the silence got too honest.
But now?
Now when I speak and the room tilts with laughter,
it’s not because I’m protecting myself—
it’s because I’m inviting something to open.
My humor doesn’t ask for approval anymore.
It doesn’t fill a gap.
It reveals one.
It’s a tool I use to connect,
to pull at the threads of comfort,
to see who’s awake enough to follow the shift in tone and question what just moved.
And I’ve noticed—
the people who know me as the reflective one,
the serious one, the still one—
sometimes don’t know what to do when I suddenly drop the line that changes the room.
They pause.
Some even pull back.
And for a moment, I wonder…
Did I go too far? Did I twist too hard? Did I just remind them I’m not who they assumed I was?
But then I remember—
that’s the point.
I’m not doing this to stay consistent.
I’m doing this to stay true.
And true, for me, looks like wit without apology.
It looks like sarcasm without insecurity.
It looks like play that comes after safety, not in place of it.
It’s not a defense.
It’s a reveal.
So if you see me throw the line that doesn’t quite match the moment—
if you feel the shift, and it unsettles something—
just know:
I’m not hiding anymore.
I’m here.
And sometimes, the freest thing I can do
is laugh
while the truth is still burning in the corner of the room.
Are you laughing?
Are you even listening?