I'm from outer space. Nice to meet you!

In high school I was a tiny boy with a big head. Oddly enough it fit me well because I was an alien in my own home. I never really fitted in.
Boys like me can't be a success in sports, can't get a girlfriend, can't make a difference. Yet I was blessed with friends who held back comments on my, feature.
Most of the time!

Who am I? The son of my father? A Mexican or an Asian? A cowboy or a gangster? A criminal for drinking alcohol and driving without a license on a school night, looking for a fight with rival gang members? A proper kid in society going to school without any sleep, only to get my name on the attendance list?
"You don't have your homework again?"

Not fitting in allows me to keep moving. I am liquid.

I can fit in, on, or next to pretty much anywhere. Be it a place, position, group, or a point on the map. I am useful till I am no longer useful. Better than a band aid, but when worn out, easy to discard.
I am the "what's his name" guy.

Perhaps my lack of everything which makes a useful man in societies standards, gave me time to listen.
The legs of an athlete. Hands of an artist. The nose of a chef. The womb of a woman.
For me, the ears of an alien. I couldn't say, "I know what you mean?"

I listen for God. Where to go and what to do next. Ghost would give me clues. What does the wind say? A persons voice and words paint a picture of who they are or what they want to convey truly.

Given that I am not handsome, I didn't expect validation. I have my honor. I have my hearing. I have today.
Some people wished they had a today.
I lift up one foot, lean forward, and catch myself. I am lucky. I can go anywhere. I can fit into the narrowest of spaces or fill an entire room.

People found me easy to get along with. Like meeting an alien from outer space. You hold back and freeze. Put one hand up slowly. And with an ugly face, you say, "Heeelooo, me friend!"
Since I don't shoot them with my ray gun, they decide to tell me anything. Like a girl confessing to her teddy bear that they love Takuma or a man saying he hides bags of potato chips from his wife, only to quietly consume them when she is sleeping. 

People I meet drop their ideas, dreams, traumas and fears, into the water. I listen for that second before they all sink and disappear. They breathe freely afterwards, like finding satisfaction in dropping stones into the water. 

For some reason, their satisfaction may have something to do with my alien powers. This is to my benefit. This is where I gain without trying. From my youth till now. Gifts of experience lay under the water in my net. You see me holding the net as I tread water, but that is only the tip of the iceberg.

Those with a keen eye see that I am alien.
Those with keen hearing can hear me breathing hard, struggling to stay afloat because my net is so heavy. They can't help to reach out their hand.