Being alone is one of my favorite things in life. I know this makes me come off as anti-social and slightly hermitesque, but I cannot help but love the silent serenity that comes from being by myself. Often times I find myself overwhelmed with people and excessive noise and to go home, wander throughout the house and hear nothing but my own footsteps is a beautiful thing. The time I keep to myself, I often selfishly spend reflecting on my day: the things I said and the ideas that entertained me.
Alone has always felt good to me; but, it has never felt just right. Spending time alone is necessary in moderation, but extended solitude is unnatural. Humans were designed to be around other humans. Company is a beautiful component of life. Interaction and relationships encourage mental growth. Other people can teach you so much and expose you to more than you could ever dream about in your room. Although, being alone is nice, being lonely is a completely separate concept. Loneliness has nothing to do with noise or company. Loneliness has everything to do with lack of self knowledge and worth. Being alone is peaceful; being lonely is tiresome. Loneliness can be solved only one way: gain yourself. Enjoy your own company. Be pleased with the rhythm of your own heartbeat and content with being alone. Loneliness can creep up on you no matter where you are, whether it be when you are alone in bed at night, or in a crowded room. She best meets me right before the supposed peak of the night in the concert hall, or when I crack a joke with my friends and only a few laugh. She reminds me what its like to have an unfamiliar soul inside of you. In these times, I remember to step back, take a break, and start again.
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I want you to know that I still remember the day we laughed so hard, your mom had to come make sure we were okay, and for one moment, you got so caught up, you dropped your mask. I still remember the day I complained so much about never jumping on the trampoline, that you spent five minutes just sweeping off all the debris for me and sitting in the middle while I jump around you. I still remember the first time you told me you truly loved me, and I got really nervous because love was serious business and we were just kids. I still remember the time you yelled at me over spring break, and I thought you were being unreasonable, but now the roles are switched and I understand. You were not unreasonable. You were raw. You were authentic. I didn't embrace it, and I have not seen you in that light since. I know now that you are fine without me, but it is my turn to hurt. I don't know why I hurt, because you are not who I once knew you to be. You got cold; but maybe I hurt because somewhere I know it was me that made you cold. And you don't know me now either. I relinquished my filtered soul, darling. You'd be proud. I'm standing up for myself. I'm making myself vulnerable. I am better now. You never liked it when I second guessed myself or settled for less than I deserved. I knew I was getting too close. I invested too much of myself in you. I remember thinking last May, I'm in danger if you ever decide to stop loving me, because I'm in deep. But, I let myself go anyway and it was so freeing. I offered my heart for the beating. Then came summer, and then came work, and then came responsibilities. The further we went down on each others priorities list. You decided we weren't worth it anymore. You say it was mutual, and that is how we both felt, right? I was busy too. I didn't have time for a relationship and we were to close to end on bad terms, so let's just end it now before one of us gets hurt. We agreed. But, I held back. I didn't tell you that I really never agreed. I was already out too far to swim back to shore. I built back up my wall, but bricks are heavy, especially when your treading the trench. My heart, such a vital organ; how stupid to uncage it. Now, I see you everyday. I see you laughing the way you do when other people laugh with you. I see you styling your hair the way you get the most compliments. You talk to me every once and a while; but always like we are school friends, and I reply in a similar fashion. Nothing deeper than a page number or the forecast. I hear you telling home stories to your friends, and I giggle to myself, because your home used to feel like home to me. Your family was like family to me. I am not stuck in the past, I swear. What gets me is the what can never be. I see you getting closer to her. They're just friends. I know, but we were once too. I see you looking at her as if she just discovered electricity. I understand life goes on and people come and go. By now, I should be used to people coming and going, but this one in particular is sticking to me. I'm not sure why. You are unaffectionate, you are hard, you are inconsiderate. You and I are polar opposites. Why should I struggle letting go to someone I clash with time after heart wrenching time? It's getting easier. I don't think about it all the time. But through it all, I kept my composure. I kept quiet. I spent time with friends and laughed at their jokes. I nodded my head to the rhythm of their rants. I learned that happiness is the only thing one can give without having. As I feel in the artsy, creative, writing mood, I look at my running list of topics to write about I keep on my handy-dandy pocket computer. Among others that don't particularly inspire me for any time longer, I found that yesterday at 3:47 am exactly (isn't technology amazing?) I updated my list with a two word headline, Head Silence. This of which, of course, in the 3:47 am delirium, I cannot recall not only jotting down, but what exactly I meant by it. So let's see how long it takes me to write before I either reach clarity or pass out from a thick cloud of mental dizziness.
Head Silence. The obvious answer is the absence of the little voices in your head, or the constant distraction of internal tangents. It doesn't really take a Nicolas Cage to decipher the code. But, why head silence? Why not mental serenity, or peace of mind? I have no idea. Head Silence doesn't even sound as cool as either of those equivalents! At any conventional point in the day to be awake with cogs turning, I would have filtered my thoughts to mold the words to fit the casual understanding of the collective whole that is my reader base (by collective whole I mean Jason and the occasional scrolling from Mr. T... thanks guys). But, what is so great about early in the morning, whether asleep or sleep deprived, that it goes unfiltered? I have always admired the early morning; the distance from the hustle and bustle brought by sunrise and carried away with sunset and a down comforter. The 1-5 am is blatantly raw in nature. As it alludes to who you really are when you are alone, its presence must be taken advantage of and appreciated. Happiness is the only thing one can give without having. "I feel as if I was made to understand but not to be understood." My entire self-actualized life, I have felt a bit off beat. I can be a crowded room of people, and feel entirely alone. My heart races around as my collected surroundings overwhelm me. The thoughts that amuse me continually don't seem to ask attention from another. Until I was introduced to the Meyers- Briggs Personality Type Test, I just assumed that I was destined to feel alone my entire life. The test asked me a series of questions about myself and how I react the certain situations. My result came out to these four letters: INFP. At first, I hadn't the slightest clue what that meant for me. I didn't pay much attention to it either until I was reintroduced to it in english class. I discovered that the letters stood for I (Introversion) N (Intuition) F (Feeling) P (Perceiving). This series of letters basically explained to me why I worked the way I did. It made sense. When researching, what was coming up was eerily similar to myself. I found out that I am entertained by deep metaphors, I tend to write more autobiographically, and when I am comfortable, I can be mistaken for an extrovert. I don't ask to be understood. Simply because I'm not even sure I understand. I listen and look and understand my outside world, but inward is a mess. As an NF, I am titled an idealist, meaning I look at a situation and analyze its potential, instead of what it actually is. This can be a strength, for I can help others see what they could be, or I can dream big. But, it can be a weakness in relationships with other people, for I could see all I want them to be, but blind to who they honestly are. Especially this year, I have noticed this trait in myself. I don't like to look at people for who they are, but more of who I think they are. Once light is shed on the reality of their being, it is hard for me to accept it. Identifying and explaining why I work the way I do brought me fantastic comfort. Though I may the only INFP in my class, I am not the only in the world. There are more people in more places that understand life the way I do. I'm not sure if it is common, or just a me thing, but the thought of everything in the world that I want to accomplish and the unknown amount of time I have to accomplish it stresses me out. When thinking of the size of our planet, I get overwhelmed. It is so massive. There are an incredible amount of places I will never see. I want to travel and meet all sorts of people. I want to make an impact and know a little bit about everything.
Someday, I want to live in New York for a small while. I can see myself spending some time writing about the beauty of Ireland's cliffs as they surround me. I want to know exactly where the Windows background is (you know the one with the rolling hills and blue sky?). When I am older, I want to have a family and grandkids. I want to see how much my kids reflect me. I want to see my mom with her grandkids. I want to know how to speak spanish and if there is a place on earth with people who are just like me. I want to be a missionary and share of the grace that has saved me everyday of my entire existence. I want to witness poverty first hand and do all I can to end it. Time is ticking and I am sitting at my kitchen table for the fourth night in a row. The same seat, the same conversations, with the same people. How am I ever going to conquer all that the world is if everyday I live the same day? Every time I go to Barnes & Noble, I spend hours soaking in all the novels; I could never possibly read them all. I may pick up a book that has potential to be my favorite book, but I put it down because of my anxiety that the next book could also be my favorite. I will go from book to book, never deciding on any, for choosing one is losing another. Using this shitty analogy, I think of life. There are endless opportunities that I could take. There are many directions my life could take me. So, instead of jumping on one and running with it, I sit. And I wait for the best opportunity. As I wait, the people come and pick up the novels, one by one, till Barnes & Noble is out of business because no one reads anything more than instacaptions. Silvia Plath says it best, “I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.” Please understand, I know I am 17. I know my life is just beginning. I know my fig tree is probably just a little guy, and the figs aren't quite ripe yet. But, my fear is this: one day, I will wake up, and I will have lost sight of all I wanted to be at 17. I want to be aware of time passing through me, and aware of the world around me; I will not get caught up in the everyday mundane. I ask the same of you. Current: it is 11:14 pm, Tuesday night. I have yet to eat, shower, or even venture to discover which members of my family are home. I am on my third cup of coffee (no time for decaf) and several hours deep into homework resulting in a minimum of seven mental breakdowns. I am tired.
I am tired of the expectation to put my 100% effort into each classroom, as if I am not a human, but a robot. The idea that each student is supposed to complete all assignments and understand each objective, not only for one course, but for seven. Every night, he or she is supposed to have a minimum of 45 minutes of homework for each course. Doing the math, that is a minimum of roughly five hours of homework a night. Let us say I come home straight from school at 3:30 and open my books. I study and complete my work by 8:30. Then I eat dinner, shower, and go to bed- only to wake up at 6:30 and do it again. But wait! I must be involved in sports and extra-curriculars, because those look good on college application. So, now after school, I have dance practice until 6. I do not get home until 6:30 and my assignments are completed at 11:30. From there, I reheat dinner, shower, and get to bed- only to get up at 5:30 in time for my morning meeting. I am tired of being compared to my classmates as if we are all on the same start line. I have learned that when comparing two or more units, it is only fair if each is the same, with only one variable. Otherwise, the comparison is unfair, for another variable could alter the outcome. My classmates and I are made entirely of variables. I am not the future engineer that thinks analytically and aces every math exam ever presented to him. I am not the girl who goes home to a mother who checks each assignment for errors, nor am I the boy who has far more heavy things on his mind and on his back than the memorization of the first stanza of George Washington's Farewell Address. I am Emilee. I will never fully grasp the concepts of chemistry, or be the first to confidently raise my hand, even if I believe my answer is right. I should not be limited to a number on a page. I should not be called better or worse than another human being. I am tired of hating myself for not being good enough according to the standard. I need all A's. I need to be president of every club. I need to be the captain of all my sports teams, and varsity every season, all four years. I need to apply to every scholarship, even if it doesn't apply to me. I sit in class, not having a clue what is going on, knowing that I am going to have to go home, and either spend extra time figuring it out; or find the answers on the internet. I am forced to choose sleep or morals. I come to school and tear myself apart because someone else seems to have it all together. She can balance it all- grades, sports, clubs, family, and friends, while I am struggling to complete simple tasks because I've lost myself on the pursuit to be the best and become what I am only expected to become. I am tired of the constant tedium of high school drudgery. From the stand point of a writer, life is the ultimate empty page, with the characters already developed and the setting decided. The writer can choose where to place each character and where to go next and what dialogue to include, but the hard part is over. Fate (or whatever you choose to believe) has done the tricky part, it’s the writer’s job to decipher what to do with whatever is on the page before.
You are not the author of your life in the way that you will be able to create people or develop the perfect setting- these are purely for fiction. Everything in reality is given to you in raw form, you just have to mold what you have to make it all fit in your story. The people in your life are who they are because that is how they are designed to be. They are not who you want them to be. You cannot tag characteristics to them or take away what you call flaws. The same goes for the places you see. They will not be perfect. You may not end up in your dream city, or have the six figure salary you once dreamed of, or you may hate the paint color in your bed room. (Yes- all of these things can change, but that’s not the point.) My point is you are never going to be completely satisfied with your setting. You are never going to be completely satisfied with the characters in your story. Beyond that, everything else is up to you. You decide how you want to interact with each character. You decide what time to get out of bed, you decide where your life goes. It’s not going to work out because you don’t have the airplane view of the plot like a conventional author. You turn with the page and run down each line trying to fill each page before it flips again to the next. You’re not going to be able to track every detail on every page because who has time for that??? It’s going to get messy. Communication is much more complex orally with a breathing human being versus on paper with paper people. When it’s time to go back over the novel, there will be no proof reading, or editing, or even parts that can be added or removed, once the line is written, the page is turned, and the cover is closed, it is done. Will your book be worth reading? Certain tasks, such as time with friends, sit down dinners, and Sundays, can be bucket fillers. Dentist appointments, paper work, and Tuesdays can be bucket drainers. If one is to live healthy, he should balance his bucket, or soul if you will; not let it get too empty, but also make sure he is honest. It makes sense to me, buckets and drains, but I have to empathize, for this is not my personal experience. My soul is not a bucket, but a light switch.
My soul knows no gray area; I feel life in black and white. I can be on top of the world one moment, and the next, the world is dragging me behind it. In each of these moments, the opposing becomes a stranger. I don't remember how it felt to be happy. I don't remember why I ever got melancholic in the first place. A switch flips in me and I cannot trade back. I will go through seasons where my switch remains dormant. Day after day, life will overwhelm me with her beauty and the people who's paths cross with mine will make me feel whole. Then, I will switch and I go days wondering what is the point of living a dismal little life. I will lose motivation, sleep, and patience. The way I experience life flips. There is a quote I enjoy, "It is both a blessing and a curse to feel everything so very deeply." I believe that I am blessed with the ability to love deeply. I go with my whole heart in everything I do. But, my consequence is that I get down just as easy as I fall. This is my curse. The constant swaying of emotional states can be exhausting to keep up with, for myself included. My entire life, I have been insecure about my lack of consistency. I could never understand why some things affected me they way that they did. But, I have accepted that this is no flaw of mine, but apart of who I am; I should not be ashamed. I write to tell you the same. |