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Does a nerd see themself as a nerd? I certainly didn’t. I was into my thirties before I embraced this identity.

Mine was a complex identity, anyway. Stereotypically, nerds are brainy, bright and intellectual, whereas I was none of those things. As a kid at school put it when another called me a square: “No, he’s right thick.”

A thick nerd: quite an achievement. Actually nerd makes it sound quite soft and kind. My actual epithet was geek, which in those days wasn’t a term of endearment for techies, but a piercing assault designed to rob you of the last of your self-esteem.

For sure, I didn’t see myself as a geek. I was listening to reggae and hip-hop, and was already moved by social justice causes, vocally anti-racist. In my mind, I was forward-thinking and progressive. The very opposite of a nerd.

But to others, of course, I was just a geek. In reality, that’s how I represented myself, so impeccably naive and immature. Coming from a strict, religious, middle-class family in the suburbs didn’t help.

We didn’t do casual relationships, getting off, sleeping around, smoking, under-age drinking, swearing, clubbing or hanging around on street corners. We were to study hard, play a classical instrument, do our homework, attend church and socialise at a Christian youth club. So, yes, I was a nerd.

But even those who knew nothing about me also knew I was a nerd, for my whole form preceded me. That’s why, I suppose, one day on my way home from college, a gang of complete strangers could pelt me with eggs as I waited at a bus stop. A true story. Also true: complete strangers yelling abuse at me across the road.

So, of course, I knew how I was perceived by others. I only had to look in the mirror. I had stick-like arms devoid of muscles, which I’d sheath in long-sleeves all year around in a futile attempt to avoid ridicule. And my face: gaunt, drawn, childlike, misshaped.

My form, I could not escape. But even my character I could not seem to change. I was never destined to be a rebel, going off the rails to do the very opposite of all expected of me. I was shy, it’s true, but I was also obedient. The very epitome of uncool.

And yet, regardless, despite all of that, I still didn’t see myself as a nerd. It seems daft now to recall how my imagination ran away with me, believing all that I believed back then. The whole world could see that I was a nerd: why couldn’t I recognise that too?

Self-identities are complex things. We know our own mind and thoughts: all that is hidden away from others. But, in the end, to others we are mostly how we appear. We are our hair style, our fashion sense, the size of our muscles, the way we walk, the tone of our voice, our posture, our self-confidence, our presence.

It took me years to come to terms with that. Yep, I was in my thirties by the time I could reconcile myself to exactly who and what I am. A nerd? Yes, sure, why not? I guess that’s part of my identity. But it’s certainly not all I am.