CONFESSIONS OF A NON-HUGGER

I am not a hugger, my dudes.       

As a plea to all huggers-please learn to recognise our breed. If someone you've hugged turns into ice the second you noose them in your arms, they're probably a non-hugger. Just because I refuse to hug, doesn't mean I don't like you. I have my reasons, and here's why, my dudes:

Hugging just doesn't feel natural: It is never in my intuition to hug someone. The worst is when I run into some random acquaintance and the first thing they do is try to hug me. I mean "Hello, do we even care for each other?" Quite simply, if I am not married to you, related to you, or very, very, good friends with you, I do not want to hug you. I don't even want to touch you.  Unless you're adorable, my dudes.

We see and talk to each other all the time: You might be a very close friend, but if I see you every day in the lounge, the stairs and Skype, I've probably made it clear that you matter. If we have lent each other something, a simple thank you would suffice. Intensity of hugs don't measure the depth of friendship, my dudes.

The setting is...awkward: So, last year I got into a silly fight with a friend cause he hugged me in a park. He failed to understand what the big deal was but let me tell you- it was all kinds of weird. People in Bangladesh suffer from a "staring without a reason syndrome," especially when they see a girl and a guy together. I'm sorry but random uncles and aunties' chitchatting about me makes me feel super self-conscious. Distance, please, my dudes.

I'm not sure if I still like you: It's nice that we were civilised enough to reach a common ground. But, just because I decided to forgive you, doesn't mean I'm ready to forget. I'm still against to fake it that I'm okay with all that went down. None of us are in the mood to like each other, and that's fine. No need to decorate our mutual loathe with a hug-shaped bow. Let's wait, my dudes.

It's hot. Disturbingly hot: I resent Dhaka's humidity for turning me into the Lion King every time I step out of the house. So, do I want to wear you as a human blanket for even quarter a second? I do not. I'm already burning ubiquitously, so keep your volcanic self away from me, my dudes.

To be honest though, I'm quite envious of these natural huggers. They certainly come off as much warmer and friendlier than me even though it might not entirely be true. I'm not uppity, I promise. I just value my personal space a bit too much, my dudes.