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Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Learning Unconditional Love.

She was angry.
She wanted to scream, to throw chairs against the wall, to smash the delicate china against the floor. Instead she ran.
He followed.
She knew he was there. He was her shadow. She stopped at the door to the office - she tightened her little fist and stared at the open door.
The office was His room and children were not allowed.

The room was dark. She was scared of the dark, but not right now. She walked to the desk in dark room.
He paused before he followed her in.
The silver scissors glinted as she held them in front of her.
She was angry.
He walked in front of her.
He looked at the scissors and curiously cocked his head to the side.

She watched as the black of his wet nose sniffed the scissors.
She was angry.
She opened them.
He yelped. He stared at her with sad eyes.
He did not leave.
She had hurt him. He was surprised. She was sad.
Tiny red dots trickled from the cut she had caused.
She cried.
He was her best friend. She loved him.
She dropped down onto her knobby knees. She hugged him.
She cried.
He wagged his tail. He licked her face.
She walked back to bed.
He followed.
She knew he was there. He was her shadow.

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

We All Wear a Mask.

Observing people is one of my favorite things to do. I try to really see them for who they are. I listen for the small details they might accidentally reveal during common conversations. I watch for "the look" someone gets when a sentence, scene, or song lyric catches them off guard and triggers a memory they hold close. Everyone has one of those looks. Its a look that is easily undetected if someone else isn't looking for it. 

Sometimes I think that's why I care so much about people that forget me so easily. Once you peel away someone's mask that they wear for society, you can't help but care for them.

Who is the person underneath the protective coat that they portray to the world? The more foreign someone's actions are to me the more I want to know the answers to this question. I guess what starts it is a simple question that I ask myself when I meet someone such as:
  • Are you really as nice as you act?
  • Why are you so mean?
  • Is that smile real? 

I think we all wear a mask. We all have a little part of us hidden away. I know I do. That's why I am so intrigued about what might lie behind another person's. I hate being judged and because of that I have a lot of secrets. They're silly secrets. Like I have secret spots and I do secret things there. They are the things I truly love to do -- my favorite things -- I keep them secret because they are mine.

I feel like if I let someone know all of my favorite things and places then its not completely mine anymore. I'm scared that if I share these things with the wrong person that I'll start to slowly lose myself. Keeping my favorites as a secret is a way to shield myself.
Until someone knows the "alone me" then they never really know me and thus they cant really hurt me.
 
I think most people have a secret self that they protect from being harmed from society. Sometimes maybe this secret self gets damaged a little and that's when people build even thicker walls around themselves. The world is full of more walls than true people. Which is why I always am left wondering, Does anybody ever know somebody else?












Monday, July 15, 2013

We get taller, we get older but do we ever really grow up?

Someone once said, "you make plans and God laughs." Religious or not this saying makes the suggestion that we are are merely pieces in a game that we have no control over. Our lives are predetermined by someone or something else. I hated this saying because I am a rebel. I am uncontrollable. I am wild. Everything I have ever wanted, I have gotten. I beat the odds. I prove people wrong. When I am make plans, nothing and nobody will stop me from completing them. I am a survivor. 


Then, I turned 22, and my plans were interrupted, and that something or someone did laugh. Everything I knew and believed was tested. My hopes and my dreams were ripped away from me. Without them, I felt worthless - less human. The life that I had carefully fought and built fell apart. My frantic attempts to hold it together failed. The 20 year old me would've slapped the 22 year old me and called me pathetic.

I just got tired of fighting. I guess I always thought that once you were an adult, life would be easier. But at 22, I was still fighting the same fight. 


There comes a point in everyone's life when you're officially an adult. I didn't know it, but this was my time. Either I needed to wear my big girl chonies or be homeless, starved, and in debt. It's almost like I had been acting like a grown-up for so long that when the time came...I wasn't ready to be one. I had an incredible urge to run and hide under my bed, to have a curfew, to have rules....anything but bills and work and hardship.

Becoming an adult is quick and messy. You turn 18 and suddenly you're old enough to vote and engage in adult activities. You think you've got it all figured out. You are invincible. A bad ass mutha-effer. Then you turn 21 and your old enough to drink. Somewhere in your twenties real life happens. Suddenly people expect you to be responsible, serious....a grown-up. & for the first time since you turned into a delusional teenager, you realize being a grown-up sucks.


I started to look at other peoples lives - not judging their lives - but considering them. I realized that everyone I knew was experiencing the same situation as me but with their own struggles. I wasn't such a failure after all. This realization comforted me and I began to rebuild my life. This simple attempt at life after complete failure was my first step as an adult.

In some ways we grow up, we have families, we get married, divorced but for the most part we have the same problems we had when we were 15. No matter how much we grow, age, we are still forever stumbling, forever wandering, forever young.