Knowing Your Place
For someone who pretends to have no emotions whatsoever I’m really sensitive.
I found a post to describe my life.
”I remember when we were driving, driving in your car. Speed so fast it felt like I was drunk. City lights lay out before us and your arm felt nice wrapped round my shoulder. And I, I had a feeling that I belonged and I, I had a feeling I could be someone.”
Isn’t it weird to think that if you were raised differently, if you lived somewhere else, if you said yes to that boy who asked you out in eighth grade, or if you played a different sport your life would be completely different? One little thing, one little choice can change your entire life.
Sade Andria Zabala, Thought of the Day
If I tell you I need you, do not take it lightly. I do everything I can to never have to depend on anyone, to never show weakness, and if I say that I need you, it means I am trusting you- Brooke F
- Rebecca, age 8: When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love.
- Terri, age 4: Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.
- Danny, age 7: Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.
- Nikka, age 6: If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate.
- Elaine, age 5: Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.
- Chris, age 7: Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.
- Mary Ann, age 4: Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.
Each time I’m asked to tell about myself, I find myself starting the same way: “My name is Kelsey and I’m nineteen..” but what I’d really like to say is: “My name means island of the ships but once I found a translation that said I’m a burning shipwreck- not a burning ship but a ship that has caught fire after the wreckage and well, I’d say that’s more fitting.”
I’ve learned that people don’t have time for about me’s. They need two things: a name and an indication you’re someone special.
The doctors, they want facts not details. “I broke my leg when I was three, it’s a funny story actually-“ The right or the left? Conversation over.
The teachers, they want interests, hobbies. You’re sad, yes, but what do you like to do?
The adults are a spew of questions. What school do you go to? What classes are you taking? What do you plan on becoming? Got a boyfriend? No, stop.
People my own age are the worst. “I’m planning on an English degree with a concentration in creative writing.” Yeah, aren’t we all. So how many times have you, you know, done it?
I’m pulled apart, my interests travelling highway 2, my goals at a stop light at traffic hour, my medical history on a billboard for the world to see. But what about me?
Where’s the chance to say, “I hang on to fistfuls of poetry like loose change in my pockets, and I keep waiting for the day that the world turns upside down so I can swim with the stars. I’m not afraid of darkness, it’s a loneliness I can empathize with it. It’s the blackholes like cigarette burns inside of me that get troublesome. I walk through graveyards and read the dashes between years, each a story I’ll never know. Sometimes I create my own.”
No wonder none of us know who we are anymore.
Kelsey Danielle, I Was Told to Write an About Me and This is What Happened