PAFE: Gifting
This is not what I planned to write about this week. But it’s on my mind, and this is the best way to pin it for later. Do you know what I mean? There is this thing I do. When something bothers me so much that it takes up space in my subconscious and conscious, I simply have to talk about it. With another person, not just the council in my head. That way, the pressure eases up, and I can talk about it later if I so please. If you cannot relate, that’s fine. It is not a prerequisite for reading this. Actually, you might leave here confused. Because I am about to ramble.
PAFE is a series I just thought of. It means Personal As F**k Essays. Pardon my French. Maybe I’ll write them randomly like this. Maybe I’ll actually work on a collection of PAFEs and program them to be published after my death. PAFEs are very personal stories that address very personal issues. Why am I writing this? Because it has taken up space in my subconscious and conscious, and this is detox (plus I am going to be around for a long while). I want to talk about it, but I wonder if it would make sense to most. My alternative? Put it out there for anyone to read. In the best-case scenario, you’ll take it as entertainment material.
Growing up, one of my mother’s mantras was that we did not take gifts from people, especially strangers, but people in general. And you most definitely did not take gifts from boys. Why? Then they would request things from you that you couldn’t and shouldn’t give, and you would find yourself in a mix that you didn’t want to and shouldn’t be in.
I do not blame her. I blame the gender that proves her right. There is a whole trend on X right now that drives her point home (— female privilege).
So naturally, I grew up wary of gifts. Especially gifts that weren’t coming from family (after all, family is supposed to provide, right?)
This is strange because of two things:
- My sister is not that way. I am now trying to accept that we are two different people. And even if we had the same upbringing, it does not mean we will be photocopies of the same material.
- I consider myself an excellent gifter. Or at least I will be when I come into my wealth. I literally go about my day, see stuff, and know who I would buy it for if I had the money to spare. Excellent gifter.
So for me, giving gifts is not a problem. Maybe because I am sure it is not coming from a place of expected reciprocation. I do not gift because I expect you to do something for me. More often than not, I want to gift you to show you I appreciate you and all you have done for me. My problem is receiving gifts, especially from the opposite gender.
When I get a gift, my brain immediately goes, Cool, now we owe them, how will we pay back? Receiving gifts creates an unreasonable sense of pressure that matches the gift. The more expensive the gift, the higher my feeling of indebtedness and the higher the pressure. This is what I call the Gifting Anxiety.
If your love language is gifting, you cannot relate to this. After all, if they love you, they should buy you stuff, right? The answer is yes, they should. Just not me. I have realized that I can only shut my mind up after receiving a gift by rationalizing that I deserve it.
Suppose I prove to my mind that the gift is a payment for a service I have rendered. In that case, the uncomfortable, panic-inducing emotion recedes.
This topic has had a while to stew in my head. This means I have had a while to think about the Why. Not just why I am uncomfortable with gifts — I have figured that out. But also why my love language is what it is. And it makes sense. We gravitate toward what we hunger(ed) for, not what we were taught to fear.
In the literary world, scholars will tell you to show, not tell. But for me, it’s different. It’s tell, then show. And in showing, gifting is not the best place to start with or for me.
I know that everything is a gift. Even time. In fact, if you show a person you love them, be it an act or possession, it is a gift. But somehow, my brain still draws seemingly irrational lines. For example, buying me a book will melt my heart because it shows that you know I love books, and that’s cloud nine-level delicious. But buying me a book and signing it with something personal that probably makes sense to only the two of us? That pure seduction (and I will fall!)
Will I still feel anxious? Yes. Will I still have the unreasonable desire to reciprocate as soon and as grandly as possible? Absolutely. But am I reassured that you are not doing this just because? You bet!
In the second scenario, I see the effort in the buying. The thoughts behind the message you have crafted. The emotions behind it and whatnot. To me, there is a great deal of effort in writing a message or a letter. It may be because of the effort I put into anything I write.
Because for me, writing does not begin when I stare at a blank screen or page. Most times, it begins days before. This means that I have probably spent weeks, days, or hours thinking about what I am writing, so much so that I can quote my opening sentence before I start to type or write. So, when I receive a note/message, I immediately consider the time you must have spent trying to find the perfect words. (There are no perfect words. The best notes are rambles. The best poems are raw, and they do not rhyme). I consider how the words must have danced in your head even as you stared at the note. I applaud your courage to go ahead with the plan (because even I have backed out on writing sometimes because I felt the words were not good enough).
Every year for three years, I have had an acquaintance who sends me a message on my birthday. The message gushes on and on about how he appreciates what I did for him and how much of a fantastic person I am. Truth be told, I do not remember what I did. In fact, in school, we were not friends. But every time I get this message, life slows down. There is no anxiety there. (Except to ensure I remember his birthday and send a message).
Now, I am not saying there are no thoughts or considerations when it comes to gifting. After all, buying a book is a gift. What I am saying is that if I were to place acts of love on a scale, it would go this way.
- Receiving a love letter/note/message/signed book (Words of affirmation)
- Conversations (Quality time)
- Unrequested help on something I was going to get to (Acts of service). The flair is in me not asking. Because unless it is absolutely unavoidable, I won’t ask for help.
- Random hugs and touches (Somehow, doses vary depending on our relationship. I don’t like touch most of the time. But I can be a hugger).
- Receiving gifts.
There is no fitting end to this. But I’ll try:
Kind regards,
Ose Andrea
