Cycle I: Coming on Strong
The Hidden Voice
Record ~ Kawaii · 15 (v1.00)
THE HOUSE OF ZAN — Zan
♡ CANDY TUNE — TUNE MY WAY
OPENING: これ、オーディション？
I have an announcement.
Auditions are canceled.
Effective immediately.
There will be no interviews, no elaborate demonstrations of my extraordinary qualifications, and absolutely no requirement to prove that I’m more interesting than everybody else.
I’ve considered the matter carefully.
I refuse to compete for the privilege of being myself.
There.
Beautiful.
Concise.
Possibly suitable for framing.
Now, before anybody becomes confused, this doesn’t mean I’ve given up on meeting interesting people.
Quite the opposite!
Somewhere out there are people with wonderful ideas, unusual interests, terrible jokes, and opinions I haven’t heard before.
I intend to find some of them.
Preferably before Saturn completes another trip around the Sun.
That takes almost thirty years.
Thirty years!
An entire planet can take that long to return to where it started.
Very impressive, Saturn.
Beautiful rings.
Excellent commitment to the journey.
But I have things to do.
And I refuse to spend the next three decades trying to compose an introduction so spectacular that somebody will finally decide I’m worth speaking to.
Especially when I could have used that time to listen to several thousand excellent albums.
Priorities!
( •̀ᴗ•́ )و
Have you noticed how easily getting to know somebody can begin to resemble a competition?
Everyone is supposed to be fascinating.
Attractive.
Funny.
Spontaneous.
Thoughtful.
Available for conversation.
But not too available.
Confident.
But not too confident.
And whatever you do, don’t accidentally reveal something inconvenient before the other person has decided you’re wonderful.
How exhausting.
At that point, I’m no longer introducing myself.
I’m assembling a product.
Would you like the deluxe edition?
It includes additional enthusiasm, carefully selected interests, and the ability to agree with your opinions at a remarkably competitive price.
For a limited time, I’ll also pretend to enjoy something I find completely unbearable!
Absolutely not.
I’m keeping my dignity.
And my terrible opinions.
Some of them have been with me for quite a while.
It would be rude to abandon them just because somebody attractive has better taste.
Although I suppose there’s always the possibility that they really do have better taste.
Unlikely.
But possible.
Take music, for example.
I could announce that I enjoy absolutely everything.
That’s a very convenient thing to say.
Unfortunately, it isn’t true.
I have preferences.
Strong ones.
And if somebody recommends something I genuinely dislike, I don’t see why I should pretend it has changed my life.
I’d rather tell them what I actually think.
Politely, of course.
I’m not a monster.
Unless they insist that my favorite song sounds like background noise.
Then we’ll have to discuss the situation.
At length.
But I don’t need somebody to agree with my taste.
I’d like them to have their own.
I’d like to hear why they enjoy something.
What they notice about it.
Why it matters to them.
Perhaps they’ll introduce me to something wonderful.
Perhaps I’ll remain entirely unconvinced.
Either outcome could make for an interesting conversation.
That’s rather the point, isn’t it?
I’m not looking for somebody who can repeat all the correct answers.
Especially when I haven’t provided an answer key.
Although…
Now that I think about it…
THE OFFICIAL GUIDE TO GETTING ALONG WITH ME.
Chapter One: Appreciate excellent music.
Chapter Two: Respect my opinions.
Chapter Three: Understand that Chapters One and Two are not open to negotiation.
…
Oh, I’d read that.
Immediately.
I’d probably recommend it to everybody.
But I wouldn’t particularly want to meet somebody who followed it.
Imagine an entire conversation with somebody who never surprised you.
You suggest something.
They agree.
You express an opinion.
They agree.
…
Hello?
Is somebody there?
Or have I accidentally started talking to a very polite mirror?
I already know what I think.
Mostly.
I want to know what you think.
Even when you’re wrong.
Especially when you’re wrong.
That’s how we get to the interesting part.
And I suppose it works in the other direction, too.
If somebody wants to know me, I’d rather they encounter the person who’s actually here.
Not a carefully assembled collection of qualities designed to produce a favorable response.
That doesn’t mean I need to announce every single thing about myself immediately.
Goodness, no.
Some of my opinions deserve proper introductions.
Others require supporting evidence.
And a few should probably remain under review until I’ve decided whether I still believe them.
But whatever I choose to share should at least belong to me.
Because I could make myself seem like almost anything if I concentrated hard enough on what somebody wanted to hear.
The question is whether I’d enjoy having to remain that person afterward.
What a dreadful amount of work.
Imagine finally impressing somebody, only to discover that they’re delighted with a version of you that doesn’t exist.
Congratulations!
Unfortunately, your prize is the responsibility of maintaining an elaborate misunderstanding.
No refunds.
I think I’ll decline.
There’s something useful about being rejected for who you actually are.
Not pleasant, obviously.
I’d still be annoyed.
Possibly offended.
Depending on the circumstances, I might spend an unreasonable amount of time considering how somebody with such questionable judgment managed to overlook my obvious excellence.
I’m very capable of disappointment.
I simply don’t think disappointment means I should return with a revised personality.
If somebody doesn’t enjoy my company, they don’t enjoy my company.
Perhaps our interests don’t fit together.
Perhaps we want different things.
Perhaps they find my enthusiasm exhausting.
Which is unfortunate.
For them.
And possibly for me.
But I’d rather somebody decide that the real me isn’t what they’re looking for than become excited about somebody I’ve invented to impress them.
At least then we know something.
Of course, not everybody provides an answer.
A message might remain unanswered, or an interesting conversation might lose its energy.
Two people can also discover they have very little to say to each other.
I could spend hours investigating what happened.
Was my last message insufficiently entertaining?
Should I have included a more interesting question?
Was that joke misunderstood?
Perhaps I should prepare a chart.
A very detailed chart.
With color coding.
…
Actually, I rather like that idea.
No!
(￣▽￣;)
I’m not conducting a three-week investigation into whether somebody might enjoy speaking to me.
If they do, wonderful.
If they don’t, I have other things to do.
There’s an entire world of music I haven’t heard yet.
And several important questions concerning the proper organization of a collection.
Which is becoming increasingly urgent.
But here’s something else.
I don’t want people auditioning for me, either.
I don’t need somebody to produce an extraordinary performance just to begin a conversation.
They don’t need an impressive list of accomplishments.
They don’t need to be endlessly entertaining.
They don’t even need to know exactly what they’re hoping to find.
A little curiosity would be nice.
Something genuine to talk about.
Perhaps a reason they wanted to say hello.
That seems sufficient.
I can decide whether I’m interested.
They can decide whether they’re interested.
Neither decision needs to become a judgment about the other person’s worth.
Although I reserve the right to question their judgment.
Privately.
Mostly.
And neither of us needs to keep participating merely because the introduction went well.
An introduction isn’t a promise.
It’s an introduction.
Which reminds me.
I’ve been considering the possibility of a five-star rating system for people.
Not seriously.
Well.
Not entirely seriously.
Imagine the convenience!
Before getting acquainted, you could read the reviews.
★★★★★ — Interesting conversation. Would recommend.
★★★☆☆ — Good intentions. Frequently interrupts.
★☆☆☆☆ — Described favorite album as background noise.
That last review seems fair.
Possibly generous.
But then I considered what my own reviews might say.
★★★★★ — Extremely intelligent.
Lovely.
★★★★☆ — Funny, but knows it.
Reasonable.
★★☆☆☆ — Asked for an honest opinion, then argued with it.
…
Who wrote that?
I’d like to discuss their methodology.
(ಠ_ಠ)
Actually, I’d like to discuss several things.
Including why they were allowed to publish this nonsense without consulting me.
There are standards!
But that’s the problem, isn’t it?
Somebody could find me delightful.
Somebody else could find me impossible.
And there’s a reasonable chance both have encountered precisely the same qualities.
They simply want different things.
I can’t fix that by collecting better reviews.
Nor would I want somebody choosing me because strangers have decided I’m worth five stars.
I’d much rather they make up their own mind.
Even if they give me four.
Four is respectable.
Three would require further discussion.
One is clearly a clerical error.
But enough about that.
I’m going to try something new.
Not a new personality.
Not an elaborate strategy for convincing strangers that I’m exceptional.
Certainly not a marketing campaign.
I already have an excellent product.
Me.
Oh, come on.
That one was funny.
What I mean is that I’m going to make room for people who genuinely interest me.
And if somebody catches my attention, perhaps I’ll tell them.
Without first conducting an extensive investigation into whether I’ll receive the response I want.
If they want to talk, we can talk.
If we enjoy each other’s company, perhaps we’ll continue.
And if we don’t?
Well.
That’s unfortunate.
Some possibilities are exciting until you examine them more closely.
Others turn out to be considerably more interesting than they first appeared.
I can’t know which is which by trying to guarantee the outcome.
And I’m not going to pretend I don’t care what happens.
Of course I care.
I’d like to meet somebody interesting.
I might even discover something I wasn’t looking for.
That would be nice.
But I don’t need everybody to choose me.
And I don’t need to choose everybody.
What a relief.
Now I can devote my considerable talents to something much more productive.
Actually meeting people.
…
Oh.
Right.
That part.
(・_・;)
Well, nobody said this was going to be entirely comfortable.
But I’m prepared.
I’ve selected the music.
Considered my intentions.
Discarded the unnecessary instructions.
And canceled the auditions.
As for what happens next?
I have absolutely no idea.
How exciting!
Perhaps I’ll meet somebody wonderful.
Perhaps I’ll have an interesting conversation that doesn’t lead anywhere.
Perhaps somebody will say something so ridiculous that I’ll have no choice but to challenge it.
That last one seems especially likely.
I hope they’re prepared.
Because I’m not here to become whoever somebody wants me to be.
And I don’t expect them to become whoever I want them to be, either.
I’d much rather discover whether the people we already are have something worth sharing.
No five-star reviews.
Though I reserve the right to disagree with one.
And if it doesn’t work?
I suppose I’ll try something else.
Saturn can keep circling.
I’m moving forward.
ENDING: Is this an audition?