You Don't Own Me

You say I'm withdrawn in person. Why so reserved, when I seem so alive and full of wit in writing? You see, when I write, I'm without my body. There's a distance that is enough to separate in your mind what I write from my actual embodiment, i.e. your idea of me. Whereas in person, I'm forced into this body. I have to behave, meet expectations, fit the picture, and not only because of the (not so) tiny fact that I'm a woman, oh no. When we meet, you put everything what I say or do against a background of what you think of me, against the things I've said or done before. You might not hear what I say, or if you do, it might struck you as so shocking that you cry out "But this isn't like you."
In person, I'm a woman brought up in the '90s, a woman of 1.6 metres, a woman behind spectacles, a white middle class woman with a university degree, a teacher of English, and so on. This entails that I have to act like any one or all of these, which means I might have to hide and protect my real self.
I'll never be the sum of your experiences about me, nor the sum of the experiences of all the people who have ever met me. In fact, the more people you ask the less you'll know of me. Thus, you'll never know me as such.
Even for the couple of hours you think you possess, control, or know me, it is but the surface you can touch. The part of me that remains with you after we've met is no more lasting than the film of lipstick I leave on your face. You can wipe it off on the way home. And even if you don't, even if you don't wish to, it starts fading sooner than you'd think.
Writing is my freedom, so do not meet me to get to know me.

P.S. Remember Diane Keaton singing in First Wives' Club?