Your Hands are Soft

Touch, as it was, Im not fond of it. The feeling of someones weight upon your hunched shoulders, funny tickles that feels like a happy-hell-sensation, that irritating heat another person carries and places upon your sensitive skin, sweat, dirt, fingerprints. 

There are many reasons why physical touch is uncomfortable, I can’t easily hug someone without becoming stiff in the process, or receive kisses, or link arms.

“Feeling another person’s existence, makes me pity them.” Something I’d probably say back then.

And although I am currently complaining about this matter, my point of view about it have shifted by a slight. There are times where it’s extremely cold for an individual body to survive in. 

Maybe everyone needs to feel warmth once in a while—so they wont feel so isolated. After-all humans are social beings. 

They need to feel their mother’s warmth as a child so they’ll know how to receive and give affection in silence. 

A father’s punishment so they’ll know what actions can hurt and actions that can’t, they need to feel how the thorns on a rose can open up  surfaces of your skin, so when they give their lovers a rose it is pruned nicely. They need to hold onto their sibling's hand to feel security when crossing the road. And a friend to drag around by the arm as to continue their adventure.

So what lead me to disliking physical touch then?

“It does not sound too bad honestly.” I stared down.

“Here, take my hand.” It was odd since he put out both hands instead of a single one, his right hand was upright and the other was positioned as if he were to ask someone out to dance. A smile was visible on his face, his smile feels reassuring. That’s probably why he always has it, I’m always so nervous. 

Patiently he anticipates for my response, I took his right hand, sliding my fingers from the palm up to the tips of his fingers. 

“How delicate.” 

“The moment or my hands?” 

“You consider this a fine moment to say that, really? I meant your hands of course. You have soft hands.” Truthfully I commented, I had never lied about my opinion about other people, his hands were soft, just as I imagined wispy clouds would feel like, although some of his fingertips were rough, probably from playing a stringed instrument. 

“Well I just have to say you have rough hands!”  

“Are you insulting me?” 

“Of course not! Say, you’re an artist, and a writer too right?” He rubbed the sides of my fingers. “You must be hard on the pencil.” 

“Hm that is true…” 

“See how many things could be revealed in a single contact. It’s fascinating.” At this moment I was just panicking whether he’ll let my hand free or not as I slightly tugged on it from time to time. 

“Yes yes, now can I ask you a question? Why did you put up two hands?” 

“Oh, I was in a bit of a panic.” He softly scratches his head flustered. “Grandma always says to offer my hand to someone with my palm facing up, rather than the high five position I got used to.”

 “Ohh I see I see, I thought it was going to symbolize something again.” I said not realizing that I did. 

“Oh? What did you have in mind?” He signals for us to continue our stroll. 

“Hmm, the palm facing up position is a gentleman’s way of offering a lady some sort of support, meanwhile your high five hand position is more of a friendly way of taking someone’s hand, or it could either mean you're inviting me to play a clapping game.” I laughed.

“Oh! Is that how you see it?”

 I nodded.