The nice one

I hate that I must be the nice one.

Nice, as in, the recipient of trivial gossip, the person who can always be a target for anything and everything unbelievably insane.

I’ve always shied away from gossip. I don’t want to get myself involved in useless conversations where the main objective is to create a story about someone else – the goal would be to tell it in the most creative way possible – unfortunately, the worse, the better. I don’t like talking about a colleague, an acquaintance, or a friend of mine in a way that makes me question my own loyalty.

I don’t like being name-dropped in malicious conversations. When the message has been relayed and they single out who was the source, I don’t want it to be me.  I just don’t like how it makes me feel – cheap and village-y.

I have packaged myself with the dignity and competence of a grown woman who can hold her own. I have always thought of myself as someone who can say a thing and be completely honest and accountable for it. I made sound decisions that could propel me to, albeit slowly, put myself ahead of my tribe. I have made goals and challenged myself to make them come true.

I pride myself as independent, level-headed, and competent. I don’t need smearing campaigns to gain something. I already gained everything I ever had from doing hard work, sheer luck, and without the need to bring somebody down. It’s never my MO. Somehow, I made who I am by my own strength – without hanging the possibility of progress over someone else’s resources.

But because I am tagged as NICE – I get targeted by people who can never accept that their own fate is their own doing. I get annihilated because they think I don’t fight back.

Firstly, I was not born yesterday. Secondly, I got to where I am now not because I ALWAYS chose to be safe. Lastly, I choose my battles.

You could say I am nice, but no one is ever too nice if push comes to a shove.