Something I've slowly learned about
myself over the years is how I've gone from being an open idealistic
lover to a more closet romantic woman.
Most people find the small changes in
themselves. “I used to like the color pink—now I can't stand the
thought of it.” or “The taste of shrimp disgusted me, when I was
a kid. I eat them at least once a week!” and, the ever popular, “I
never believed in ghosts, until one haunted my bathroom after I moved
into that creepy cabin.”
I'm kidding. No one ever stops liking
the color pink.
I'm happy to report I'm not quite the
cynic I once became after my college experiences. I was quite the
innocent, growing up with parents who taught my brother and I well.
Not that he and I weren't little shits (and that we still aren't),
but we took our parents' word as truth.
Don't do drugs, they can screw up your
life. Good friends will have you smiling at the end of the day. A
clean room instigates a clean person (we both didn't follow this last
rule until closer to the more 'now' time; it's mostly true).
But one of the most we held true to our
hearts was the importance to be with the ones we love, and never
settle for less.
I can freely say that this was what
changed with me most, was how I went about their advice.
At first, I lived in a Disney-esque
state. I lived in a small town, and dealt with small matters. But I
dreamt big, and, in the face of what I thought was considered
animosity, I stood for justice. We didn't have much to go against in
our tiny town, at least, not in my eyes. And I had the hardest time
understanding what seemed to be the simplest of matters, such as why
someone would take the time to be a bully.
I remember a distinct moment in which
we were all standing in line for lunch, and a small group of the said
“popular” crowd started picking on one of the boys for wearing a
Spice Girls shirt. During lunch time, there were only two lines, and
our lunch periods collided for 5th graders all to 9th
graders; we were in 8th grade. This meant that there were
well over 100 spectators, watching either in silence or snickers,
while three kids who were meant to be looked up to mercilessly
insulted their classmate for wearing a shirt with a girl-band on it.
I was with two of my friends, who ignored the scene and talked with
each other. I muttered darkly as the boy tried to ignore them,
failing miserably, his cheeks getting redder and hotter as the bunch
continued with their banter. He opened his mouth a couple of times to
say something, but then stuck his hands in his pockets and faced
forward instead. The anger in my heart couldn't take it any longer.
“What, is that bugging you?” I
asked, my voice barely louder than their rambles. They glanced over
at me, then shrugged it off and went back to it. “So, what, is it
because of his shirt?”
“It has five girls on it,” one of
the boys, Jeff, said.
“So? I like the Spice Girls.”
“You're a girl. If he likes them,
it's gay,” he sneered. This was during the time when we didn't
really know what gay meant, but the term was thrown about like we
did. All we truly knew was that it was considered derogatory, and it
was looked down upon.
“So, him wearing that. It's affecting
you in some way? To a point that you need to tease him, make fun of
him?” I jerked my thumb at their victim. My voice had gotten
louder, and some people had stopped talking to see what was
happening. “As far as I can tell, you're only making yourselves
look dumb.”
“Like anyone will listen to you.” It was true, I was considered an outcast at this point.
“Like anyone will listen to you.” It was true, I was considered an outcast at this point.
“At least I'm not the one everyone
wants to shut up. And that's what you should do.”
The boys tried to laugh it off, but the
crowd had turned slightly against them with my words. My friends
growled at how they were jerks, but I was still angry. I was angry at
how the three popular kids had such power that they could tear down a
boy, and cause a crowd to ignore their incessant idiocies. I was
angry that no one else in the crowd had been willing to say
something. And I was angry knowing that my words hadn't changed a
thing in their demeanor.
When I got to the counter to hand over
my lunch ticket, the adult manning the counter said, “I saw what
you said and did there. Good job.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, but, in that moment, I was angry at her, too. She was an adult, and she didn't do anything to stop it either. I had been the only one who took the cards that were dealt, whereas everyone else passed.
These are the things I learned at
school in my small town. As I explained the situations that didn't
make sense to me while growing up to my parents, they'd press their
lips together. These are the things that don't change, unfortunately,
they'd tell me, and maybe a bit to themselves.
I was lucky, and relieved, to leave
after my sophomore year of high school to my arts school. Most kids
would be devastated to move during this time, to have to leave their
friends and life. I, instead, was content with the knowledge of not
dealing with the people in that school again. And that's where I
learned more about the grey areas of life.
My most favorite people in the world
(still to this day) did drugs. The teachers and adults treated us as
equals, rather than children to scold and send on their merry way so
they wouldn't have to continue to be dealt with. And I found that not
all things depicted in movies weren't exaggerating about our world.
And it was where I had my first dashes
at the idea of love.
You see, at my other school, the
thought of being at all romantic with any of those, for the lack of
the better word, jerks, made me want to hurt
someone. But my new school? It was filled to the brim with people who
were different than anyone I've ever met. Artists, in every single
person, and they weren't afraid to show it. The school encouraged
everyone to be themselves. And it was amazing.
I won't divulge into any details, as
I'm sure my stories aren't as exciting as the next, but I had my few
dashes with boys that got me realizing that love wasn't as easy as
I'd anticipated. I'm unsure whether it was because of my small town,
but I didn't have too many crazy families to deal with. I didn't know
too many divorced parents, and the ones who happened to be were very
civil. And I didn't know any parents who fought, either. Not any
fights that weren't unhealthy, anyway.
I have a theory about these things.
People who I know who have had horrible things happen to them, they
have a choice in life—to either make it worse, or better. I have
been innumerably lucky to know the people who have chosen to make
their lives better. The ones who were too poor to have enough food to
go around, the ones who came from houses with parents who didn't care
if they were home or not, the ones who were abused
emotionally...physically. Tragic back stories that these unbroken
people decided to change to brilliant futures.
But I got lost in these stories. The
chipper girl who was ready for adventure and life, she faltered at
how possible it was for her to take on the world when it turned out
to be just as big as she'd hoped.
The chances I had at love, I wasn't
ready for. I knew because I learned from other people's mistakes. I
watched while people got insipidly drunk, would make out with a
random person, then later lament to me about the woes of how it was
all going wrong. I was told the stories by my guy friends who would
purposefully lead a girl on, use them, then toss them aside, laughing
the whole time. Some girls weren't much better. For college, it was
considered a time to experiment without any ramifications—no one
thought the consequences could touch them, the immortality of a young
adult.
Perhaps I took too much of a protective
stance for myself. All I knew was that I didn't want to be placed in
that same category, looking pathetic and weak all because I wanted to
feel as if I'd had some connection with someone. Because that's what
I saw in those girls after they finally sobered up, realized what
they did last night, and tried desperately to justify their actions
and make it all okay.
Their actions didn't mean anything to
me, but I knew what I wanted. I didn't want the one night stand
people would giggle over having. I didn't want to have the bragging
rights people smugly spoke of having due to the amount of people they
hooked up with the night previous. I didn't want to deal with the
drama my friends consistently had on whether a kiss was just a
kiss—or if it meant something more.
Because, somehow, deep inside, I knew
that it shouldn't be that difficult.
As the years went on, I became more
cynical of how love was, and less impressed with my generation's
attempt at finding it. I became who I wasn't. I mean, I became not
who I intended to be. I was hidden behind a mask because it seemed
too difficult for me to grab the world and see how I could change it
for the better anymore. I couldn't seem to fit in.
This past year, I had a more official
coming back to roots. I was lost in three separate phases, growing
up, but it took me until now to finally pin down what it means to be
myself, and what it means for me to love. Always a work in progress,
being me (I am so far from perfect, if it were a scarf, it'd be
labeled infinity long...if that makes any sense at all), but I feel
at home where I used to feel chaos earlier. I can love as I wish.
I'm not as open as I once was about it.
Before leaving my lovely (/sarcasm) school, I used to gush about the
type of love that transcended time. About connection, and how there
is one person for everyone.
But now I'm wiser. I still believe love
transcends time, for friendship and otherwise. And I believe that
everything is connected, that people connect and should listen to
their soul more on where they should be, who they should be with, in
life. But I also believe, now, that there are certain people for
certain times in your life. The opportunities we are given,
especially in love, are to guide us in life, to teach us how to
become even better than we are now. I've had connections with people
who have been my friend for years now, and I've made quite a few more
connections this past summer that are only going on a couple of
months. There has even been a connection with someone that only
lasted a week, and I would never give those moments back, as I was
able to place a piece of my puzzle together on how I can better love
someone. Love is easy, really. When in doubt, love. You don't need a
definition, you don't need to perfect the rubik's cube that is love
before attempting it, you just...do it.
So, maybe I'm not as open about it. I
still find myself shying away from situations, or balking from
sharing. Particular moments from this past year has gotten me more
comfortable with myself, that balance between my roots and how I want
my future. There were no mistakes in my eyes, just life. The romantic
core I have has survived, and I intend to feed it.
But not before I feed my other love,
adventure. Because that was another thing I once gave up.
Never again.
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