On Being “Different”

…refusing to betray yourself just to fit in.

INTROSPECTIVE

I never set out to be different. But I also never knew how to pretend I wasn’t. To me, it was simply logical.

One of my earliest memories of not “fitting in” is my First Communion in Acarigua, Venezuela — a small city where the heat doesn’t play around. All the kids looked immaculate. The boys wore three-piece suits. Dark navy jackets. Vests. Rosaries wrapped around their wrists. Little Bibles held carefully in their hands. It was tradition. It was expected.

I went to Catholic school. It was all I knew and respected. But the ceremony was going to be held outdoors at the Club Canario, under the Acariguan sun. There was no universe in which I was going to wear three layers of dark fabric in that heat. So I didn’t. I wore navy pants and a white button-up shirt. Simple. Light. Fresh. I remember it drew comments from the adults. But to me, it wasn’t defiance. It was common sense.

Later, when it was time for photos, the adults separated us — boys on one side, girls on the other.

My cousin Gaby was there. We shared our childhood side by side — even our baby shower. She taught me how to ride a bike by pushing me mercilessly down a hill in her neighborhood, where my brakes were my knees and her victorious cheers pushed me to collect more bandages. Of course she was part of my First Communion too.

When they lined us up for the picture, she shouted my name. I ran to her side. The adults told me not to, but I did it anyway. Not to challenge anyone. Not to stand out. But because that’s where I belonged — next to my ride-or-die.

I still have that photo. Two kids in white and navy, ignoring instructions we didn’t understand. Only later did I realize that what felt natural to us looked like nonconformity to others. That pattern would follow me into adulthood — especially in creative spaces, where instinct or passion is often mistaken for rebellion.

Creative people are often labeled rebels, as if being different were performance. But most of the time, it isn’t. It’s instinct. It’s coherence. It’s refusing to betray yourself just to fit in.

Being different isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s lonely. Sometimes it hurts. But pretending hurts more.

In the end, it isn’t rebellion. It’s identity. And once you learn to listen to it, there’s no going back.