I am far too ignorant on the subject of love to fully and accurately express it’s power. I have loved and been loved. I love my mother and my books. I love being alone and driving my grandpa’s car. But, I can say today with a matured heart that I, now 18, have never been in love. I thought I was in love in 4th grade with a boy on the bus who wrote my name on a piece of paper to keep in his desk, then in 7th grade with a boy a few lockers down my mother knew nothing about, then again freshman year with the goofy new kid I was all but indifferent toward. Later on, I learned that being in love was different than love. Love was something that naturally flowed out of me. Passion was a part of my personality. Being “in love” had to come from not only me, but from somewhere beyond me and my power.
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I'm at the end of the uphill climb and any minute my stomach is supposed to drop. At 18 years old, I'm meant to be dwelling in possibility. My life is on the verge of taking off. But, if you didn't predict this coming, that has not my experience so far.
As exciting events come up in my life, as I make huge decisions relative to my future, as I spend my final hours with childhood friends before we part ways, I remain in a constant state of ugh. Enterprise that used to capture my passions now finds me vastly jaded and unenthused. But, I continue on. I wake up every morning (lately noon) and do what I need to do. I do what has been enough for 18 years. I go to bed every night feeling no different than when I opened my eyes that morning. The days blend together until I live a continuim of day and night slumber. My friends savor their last sip of childhood. They walk ahead as they anticipate their futures. I think I might be missing out. “And I realized how many people talk about having their hearts on their sleeves
but you had lust dripping from the lines of your knuckles and after you punched a hole through me you said, “you didn’t expect love, did you?” I said no while I tried to sew my heart back into my sweater and ended up losing the pieces” Every day is molded by choices. Choose to push snooze one too many times. Choose to smile at the girl in the hall who you can never quite remember her name. Choose to yell at your parents for cramping your style while rolling up to practice in a minivan. These choices pile up until you close your eyes at night, then you wake up and it’s a new chance at the same choices. So— theoretically speaking, what if for an entire day, you chose to be happy? You chose to smile and laugh at the joke, no matter who told it. You chose to rock the minivan by blaring The Weeknd with the windows down. Every day has the same opportunity to be the best day. It is just in how you decide to conquer it. Here is a step by step, chronological guide to how to have the best day yet— every day:
Step 1: Wake up when the alarm goes off. No good day starts off with a rushed and stressful waking. Just get up and you won’t be as tired once you are on your feet. With this extra time, indulge in some marshmallow mateys, or whip up some chocolate chip waffles. Breakfast makes the days a little brighter. Step 2: Pump in your favorite song on the ride to school Whether by car, bus, foot, or plane, as you are being transported to school (or I guess wherever else you spend your days) play a song that makes you want to dance. Countless mornings, my little sister and I crack the windows and jam to Hannah Montana’s “He Could Be The One” (you’ve never heard of happiness if you’ve never heard of this song). Who can be dreading calculus as they nail every note in the bridge? Step 3: Make small talk with the teacher on parking lot duty and hold the door for whoever is walking in behind you I promise you now, the teacher standing outside welcoming the students to the new day is just as cold, tired, and impressed with the burn outs from the back row as you are. Telling them “good morning,” or maybe just a smile could add to the overall goal for the best day yet. As you walk to the door, why not hold it for the middle schooler who has to sprint down the ramp to meet his friends in the cafeteria? Once again, this small gesture could not only help him out, but make you feel like a first-rate member of society. Step 4: Keep in mind that people are people and reserve every right to be This one is from experience, friends. In the everyday horror of passing periods, lunch rooms, and ‘individual work time,’ you are going to be surrounded by people you either claim a friend, foe, or Joe Shmoe. Understanding that these people only have the power to affect your attitude if you let them is key in maintaining a great day. But, beyond that, do not let the actions or words of the people around you irritate you because their life is different than yours, or it could just be that they are a different person than you. You MUST be open-minded and open-hearted in order to stay positive. Step 5: GO OUTSIDE (Conditional) Being stuck inside for 8 hours is obviously going to wear down on one’s soul. Getting outside for some fresh air would be a great way to reset yourself. This being said, please, if it is hailing baseballs, snowing sideways, or if Zeus is throwing a temper tantrum, I advise you to stay indoors and color or read a book. Step 6: Eat ice cream and talk about stars To wrap up the day (if you’ve made it this far), it is vital to indulge in ice cream (unless you are lactose intolerant). Ice cream is a cure-all and a wonderful part of life that we must appreciate often. While you have your ice cream, start a meaningful conversation. Talk to someone about your passions or their passions or flavors of soda or stars or the presidential election. Deep conversations gets you thinking, and they are alway so much fun. Nothing special needs to happen in order to have the best day. What could have been an average day you wouldn’t remember by next Monday, could leave you full of sun beams, just by choosing happy every minute of every hour of every day. This day is the best day yet, but tomorrow will be even better. Of the 4.543 billions years this earth has been in existence, my 17 years have been uneventful in comparison. I have missed out on events such as Aristotle’s walks through The Lyceum, both World Wars, and not to mention the Roaring 20s in its entirety. I have neglected places such as Greece, Israel, and Peru. All of these postcard destinations I can only dream about now, will be plausible in my future.
I leave my hotel at 6:00 A.M. in the heart of the Dublin sunrise to interview some of the natives for my latest article, segment, or blog post. I catch a flight to Sydney, Australia to review a ballet at the Opera House. I stand Philadelphia and mediate a Presidential Debate. To be submerged in these foreign cultures, no matter how long, is powerful enough to restructure one’s self. This idea of constant self improvement via culturization makes me want to jump into my career now, but most may not notice that college itself is a cultural melting pot. In college, I can pursue education while surrounding myself with new people, visiting new places, and experiencing new things. I hope to double major in communications and spanish with a minor in political science. With this, I have an open mind as to what the rest of my future holds. Maybe I host my own morning talk show, or write for the New York Times, or run my own blog that takes me global. While in college, I want to be involved in clubs I have never heard of. I want to be a member of the student government, debate team, dance team, and whatever else I see fit (tentative on the amount of free time I have). I would like to study abroad, just to get a taste of what the world is actually like, instead of through a computer screen. One of the disadvantages I will have, being from Small Town, USA, will be my lack of previously exposed culture. No matter how I study it, there is a difference between knowing and seeing. I have never seen a mosque or a open trade market. I know corn fields and Sunday evening baseball games. But as anything, this can also be an advantage, due to the fact that in college, I will be able to fully experience all the new. Another obstacle could be, the obvious but real, financial issue. Sharing a home with five other children can be both a blessing and a curse. I have many built in best friends, but when it comes to paying for gas, food, or college, I am on my own, I am hopeful that throughout my busy, stressful four years of high school, I have put in enough work to reap the scholarship benefits. With a total college experience, I hope to one day visit places like Buenos Aires, Ontario, and Beijing. Future events I can’t even dream of yet will play out in front of me. I will be there to aide in the rebuilding after natural disasters. I will stand for hours sorting shelves of donated books at a library for the homeless. Maybe one day I could go back to Delphi High School and speak of all the wonders of the world. Yes, my life will be short in comparison, but it will not be uneventful. In the name of poet Francois Rabelais, “I will go to seek the great perhaps.” “The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history.” Upon multiple request, I've decided to post the second part of my attempt at fiction. I'm not super impressed with it in its entirety, but why not? I hope you enjoy the continued sub par love story of Grey and Eden. From that day forward we were inseparable. We were best friends; like Ron Swanson and Leslie Knope, Jerry and Elaine, Harry and Hermione. We’d spend hours watching random documentaries and quizzing each other afterward, taking walks around the block and point out houses we specifically liked, or lying on opposite ends of the bed, saying absolutely nothing, but giggle every once in awhile. Our friendship, being just that, was often questioned by outsiders. “But she’s a girl, you will fall in love and then you can no longer be friends.” The cliche that boys and girls always fall in love was one I specifically despised. Gender played no role in our relationship. I was me and she was she and all was well. Or so I thought in that year. Freshman was the coast year. We happily cruised and were content with the state of our relationship.
I didn’t even realise what I was repressing until one morning, we were laughing at a dumb internet joke and I realized how beautiful she was. She was truly radiant in that moment. This was the exact moment I wish I had not let myself slip. I was making my own cliche. I was just fulfilling my teen duty, to think I’m in love with my best friend. It’s not true though. I mean, how could it? She didn’t change anything and neither did I. Nothing was new about that moment, only my perception (of which is obviously unreliable). I wish I could forget that moment when everything switched. So I tried my best to. I tried everything to forget whatever was I was ‘feeling’ and move on like nothing new. My then subconscious method of repress, repress, repress, was outwardly working. She didn’t notice a thing and I didn’t say a thing. I mean, what kind of man would I be to flimsily state how I feel. I walked the block with her; she was beautiful. I questioned her on the origin of bread, she was beautiful. We held elementary level conversation in spanish to study, and while she stuttered and messed up every conjugation, she was so beautiful. I couldn’t carry out my daily routine without every little thing reminding me of her. The curve of her body became apparent. Why had I never noticed it before? When she fell asleep on my couch, her chest rose only to fall again. Her hair rested on the bed as if it had been strategically placed so each piece made it harder for me to keep my composure. * * * She kissed me. I don’t know what lead up to it, but I kissed her back. We just laid there looking at each other for what felt like an eternity. She finally shattered the silence with a, “finally,” and an exhale. She leaned in again to kiss my forehead, a familiar act. But then placed her fingers on my chin and actually kissed me this time, an unfamiliar act. I smiled, though I was terrified. “I love you, Grey.” I stared at her, while my head was trying to catch up. I hated myself for not saying anything or doing anything. She got a worried look on her face, as if she knew she just made a mistake. I snapped out of it just in time to grab her and hold her closer than I ever had before. She was warm. Her skin was so soft, so sweet. In the most cliche way possible, the stars had aligned in this moment. I gave in to the universe. “Eden, I love you too.” I kissed her again. And again. And again. Her body relaxed. She let herself completely rely on me to keep her from falling. I held her like that for six months. The following summer, after months of continual happiness beaming from Eden to me and back to her, we were full. Not everyone knew of our situation still. People suspected prior to the event, but since it has always been a question, people don’t ask. That made us happy. Courting Eden has reshaped our relationship. She tells me everything; and I mean everything. We don’t go out and do as much as we used to. She has started to get angry with me more often. By more often, I mean she had never been angry before, but now it’s a weekly occasion. She talks about how this makes her feel this and that makes her feel that. She gets angry when I don’t tell her how I feel. “She’s not as beautiful when she’s angry,” I thought. So I climbed back in my cave. I repressed my feelings. I didn’t tell her all I wanted to, for fear it would not end well. Instead, I put distance in between us. This made her angrier, and I dug deeper into my safe zone. Here I am not vulnerable. With time, she got less angry, and we didn’t talk everyday, we didn’t hang out every week, we didn’t smile at eachother in the hall. I have never encountered such a familiar stranger. I think her anger was gone, because she no longer called me late at night, crying. She no longer texted Charley to meet up for coffee. I no longer existed in her world and it was my fault. I saw her more and more around other boys. Sam, a senior boy, would walk her to class everyday. I overheard at lunch that they went out together on Halloween night. He buys her dinner and talks to her about stars. The more I heard about Sam and Eden, the deeper I sunk, but it doesn’t matter. I am better off now. The ex-whatever lost and alone (another cliche). I pulled myself together to check out the party scene. I distracted myself with loud music and girls I couldn’t tell you their last name. Cliche. I saw her in the smallest things. I saw her in the bottom of a bottle. I heard her over the alarm set for school. I smelled her perfume driving through town. But when I saw her, I saw her smile, and I knew I am no longer her muse. Sam nodded his head to the rhythm of her exaggeration of the day’s events- hand motions and all. I knew that no matter how I felt, she is happy now without me. It’s my job to be happy without her. No matter what I actually felt, I must not show any struggle. I cannot go soft. So I didn’t. And the longer I stayed in my box, the further she walked from me. She just needed someone to listen. Sam was there. Sam was there through the colors of the fall, through the snow storms of the winter, and into the life of spring. One night, I was so restricted in my box constructed by isolation, I couldn’t stand. I walked to her door, my own cliche. I knocked until she answered. She was in her nightgown. The nightgown I bought her. She looks surprised to see me, but she didn’t look upset. “Eden, listen to me. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I gave up when things got rough. I got nervous when things got too involved and I freaked. When I finally realised what a mistake I made, it was too late and you were happy.” She stood blank for a long time. She stared off beyond me. She finally shattered the silence with a, “finally,” and an exhale. She went on, “Grey, I’m sorry, but you are too late. I am happy now. I invested too much of myself into you, and you walked away. How am I supposed to go on from that?” After standing in front of the threshold of her home for a little over an hour, we placed ourselves down on the front steps. She talked about why she was angry, and I talked about why I caused her to be. She talked about the stars and bands and Sam and her new jeans. The sun started to rise. The birds started to chirp. She continued to talk about college and summer classes. The morning was beautiful. It was all a cliche. Comfort is something we as humans strive for. We all want to be able to relax in a routine with no surprises and no moments of uncertainty or doubt. We dream of the days we won't have to worry about money or the future, because everything has settled. The days were you go to work a job you are good at, come home to a house that is nice, and eat a home cooked meal of chicken and noodles. You wake up in the morning and eat the same breakfast you did the day before only to head off to work and do it all again. No challenges. No tests. Just routine. A happy 24 hour day.
Switching gears a bit, lets discuss the world. How fantastic is it that we live on a giant spinning ball in the midst of total massless darkness. For as long as we have been here, we have called on thousands of different religions world wide, fashioned breathtaking structures, founded civilizations of brothers and enemies all working together for survival, invented tools to shrink the planet and communicate globally in seconds, to walk on the moon, and to support longevity and health. With 7.4 billion beings on this globe, the potential our race has still yet to unveil is unfathomable. So my dear reader, do you see where I am going with this? You've got all this room for activities and you want to snuggle up in the corner with microwave popcorn. (Okay maybe that analogy wasn't my best.) Complacency is a shame. You were given one shot to shape the world; are you going to spend it comfortable, or are you going to test your limits and do shit? Imagine if Shakespeare had settled as a business man like his father and carried out his life comfortably with a wife and some kids. The language we speak today would be completely different from anything we know. This is just ONE MAN. Now think of all the men and women in history who have lived mediocre lives with fear of failure. It is incredible what we could achieve. Instead of chasing dreams and taking names, the average man lives in "the sweet warm comfort of mediocrity" (thanks Stan). Stepping outside of his comfort zone leaves him vulnerable, and why be vulnerable when he can be comfortable. One's comfort zone is a beautiful place in which nothing ever grows. Vulnerability is where life starts. You can choose to bask in mediocrity or chase life, make mistakes, and be the best version of yourself you can be. Up to you. Naturally, I am a self-reflective writer. Most of the entries on this blog are exerts from my point of view. This is my first attempt at creative writing. I wrote this for my English 11 AP class, but I was pleased with it, so I thought I'd share (I only published the first page due to the length and the decreasing quality of my work as the night progressed). I hate cliches. I hate the over-used banality that is the boy falls in love with the girl, the highly trained officers aimlessly spray bullets as the main character gets away unharmed, or the underdog comes out on top. I hate every teenage girl for blindly expecting their life to be a cliche and trying everything in their power to mold it to a Jennifer Aniston movie plot, or better yet, a John Green novel. God forbid another junior girl won't wear pink everyday because, "that's what we do; on Wednesday's we wear pink!" Despite my appropriate hatred for cliches, fate chose to hand me a life that epitomises cliche opportunity. And guess what... it all started at a football game, the first day of freshman year.
I must have been asking for it; I don't know why I was there in the first place. My sister, Charley, told me I needed to branch out and be involved, but I don't know the first thing about football or the high school social plane. She told mom she would watch over me, but as soon as the car was in park, her senior friends flooded and I, still the little brother, was left to navigate the complexity that radiates off the home bleachers under the Friday night lights alone. Appropriately, I stood awkwardly in the back of the student section, clapping when the other kids clapped, and booing when they booed. She noticed me first. She shot me a half, timid smile and then quickly looked away. Go figure. This is the first scene in every chick flick I had ever been forced to see with Charley. You knew exactly what is to happen next. We fall in love, we get married, we have two suburban kids and a minivan and desk jobs. If only it was that easy. She noticed me first. She shot me a half, timid smile and then quickly looked away. She herself was a cliche. She wore a cute, little tank top with the school symbol across her chest. She clapped when the other kids clapped, and booed when they booed. It wasn't until almost the end of the first half did she say something to me. The student section was leaving the stands to form a tunnel outside the locker room when she, what may or may not have been accidently, nudged my side. She apologized, but then asked me my name. "Grey, like the color." "Hi Grey like the color. I'm Eden, like the garden." The first inside joke. The joke we will giggle about until the third date, when better inside jokes are formed. "You enjoying the game?" I nod. I can't remember if we are up or facing defeat. "We are used to losing, so for me, it's more about the experience and less about the game." Cliche. The teenage years are the paragon of cliche. Especially mine, but I loved every second. |