In a way, I try to avoid telling people items about me for as long as I can. They can get all they want out of just looking at me, can’t they? If they have eyes in their head and a brain in their skull they can read my face to their own satisfaction. I’m “that brown-skinned girl whose kinda chubby and extremely short.” And from that information, I’m sure they can stereotype their way into my personality – “pretty crazy.” I doubt they’ll ever really get to the point.
You’re going to try to guess right here; you’re going to ask “what is the point?” in an attempt to coax it out of me. Sorry. Maybe, instead of asking, you can riddle me this. If I told you a story, would that make me a storyteller? A writer? An orator of momentous proportions? Let’s try it and see.
When I was in kindergarten, I learned that souls can collide. That best friends can really be more than that; they can feel what you’re feeling across state lines. They can hand you all the love in the world – all the love that ever wanted you.
When I was in seventh grade, I learned that I was fat and ugly. I learned that intellectual prowess and growing self-determination could all be yanked out by that one word – “weird.” You could snatch it from my head and leave me a patch of nothing, sprouting skin and blood. I learned those superficial terms we use to decide our leaders; love was only for the movies.
When I was in tenth grade, I learned to worm through space. I could struggle to replace my prison with flower fields, where “weird” turned to “crazy” and people accepted it. I learned that a terrible neediness had fallen over my entire world, and that I could not kick it away like any stray dog. I learned that eyes will be eyes and no one can tell people to see further in.
In twelfth grade, I am still learning. That “selfish” is not always a bad word and that “selfless” is not always good. I am learning to love me more.
I avoid telling people about me until they can feel it out for themselves. They have to realize that the shell is just a package, that the heart is more than muscle. Full disclosure. At that point, the points we’re making glow together.
Check out some more posts featuring my photography.
More writing and stories are also available for your reading pleasure.
