Surprise, Surprise...

Boo!

I don’t know about you but I sure do hate surprises. The whole spontaneity-not-having-control-thing doesn’t really work for me. At least when it has to do with people who turn out to be something you didn’t expect them to be.

It’s funny how some people can judge a situation entirely without knowing one thing about it. How someone can simply make something – an entire story- up from the top of their heads based on the surface that meets their eyes, rather than the actual story behind it.

The worst part is, we can’t keep anything to ourselves anymore. Because if we do, people will judge us. They say, “What does she really do?”

“Does she even work that hard?”

“Her parents pay for everything.”

As if they lived your life, in your shoes, every day, every second.

Kind of aggravating isn’t it?

Like they know everything we do in our spare time or what we’re doing towards our careers. Suddenly, people decide to make up what they think you are, or what they think you’re doing, instead of just letting it be, and being themselves and not caring. And you panic of course, cause you don’t want to be seen in such a way, or even in the slightest way that you’re not. I mean, we’re ourselves for a reason, right? So we can be ourselves. And communicate ourselves to others. We don’t work this hard to construct an identity just so people can revoke it and replace it with their idea of who they think we are. But then again if you think about it, why should we tell anyone anything about our lives?

For the approval? Nonsense. It’s up to you to be happy and know that what they say is only out of boredom or jealousy or pure ignorance. If anything we should feel sorry for those who are so impaired that they cannot take the time to actually get to know us and resort to spreading lies for their amusement. It’s our job to just keep our heads held high and keep moving.

Because after all, if people want to bring you down, they will find their ways to bring you down no matter what you say.

And just when you think you can trust them, they go and surprise you again. Boo.

Road Trip.

“It’s time to grow up...”
“But you’re too young to do that.”

It seems as though reaching the peak of adolescence is a never ending maze. We’re given hints on which way is the right way to go, only to be found at a dead end, forced to change route and wander aimlessly towards the exit that seems so hard to find.

Eighteen.
Such an odd age in America, isn’t it? We’re old enough to kill ourselves with cigarettes and live alone, but not old enough to rent a car or drink some champagne.

It’s the year most of us graduate and move onto bigger and better things. “Life”. As if entering high school wasn’t confusing enough, as soon as we think we’ve finished the rigorous journey, we’re thrown into another challenge.
The real world. I don’t know about you, but I thought I was in a real world already. Why the name? It sounds as if we’ve been living in a fabricated, cushioned cell for the past 18 years of our lives and now we’re finally opening the door to see life for what it really is.

When did this become the Matrix’s storyline?

“Stay calm, you’ll be successful” they say. How the hell are we supposed to stay calm when society makes the “real world” sound like a tank full of sharks with laser beams attached to their heads waiting to feast on us the second we turn the tassel on our graduation cap?
No wonder everyone has a crisis at 18. We’re at the middle of the road on where one side is our childhood innocence and the other side is…well, the real world.
We’re just standing there looking back and forth, waiting for some kind of answer to fall from the sky, but already knowing which way we have to go. We can’t return to the past. Which is what scares us because as much as we know we must move onto another chapter, we still can’t take that bookmark out of the page we were on back then and just keep reading.

So, we have to just brace ourselves and accept that we will be thrown to the sharks, and will be lost and scared and maybe even devoured. So it’s up to us to make it out alive.

Every man for himself.

Just a Mirage.

Love. The one thing people can spend their whole lives searching for.
It seems that the reason we obsess over this feeling so much is because it is so hard and rare to find.
Some can go their whole lives looking for love. It’s like the buried treasure we all go after. And the green envy we feel when we witness our friends digging it up with a huge smile on their faces.
Some may find love early in life, and some may find it later.
What bothers me is that some often look down upon those who find it within maybe fifteen years of being on this planet. Why? I say sheer jealousy. “Hell, we’re older we should have found it by now, if we didn’t they couldn’t have. It can’t be love, it’s all in their heads.”

Not only does everyone experience and feel love differently, but the worst part is that love is spontaneous. It’s an unexpected arrow that strikes you in the butt when you turn away for a second to finally concentrate on yourself. It comes when we don’t even look for it, and seems to run away from us when we are desperately searching for the sweet affection we’ve longing for.
And with enough deprivation of this sweet affection, soon enough we are walking through the desert of loneliness with severe dementia while seeing mirages of perfect soul mates in the distance.
What we don’t keep in mind is that those mirages are simply illusions of grandeur, and not our treasured soul mates, but in fact just assholes in Tapout clothing who spend their weekends playing beer pong and degrading women.
But fear not, for love does come for everyone. Whether it be with someone they expect, or someone they detest, in ten years, or two days, love always finds a way of creeping up on us.

Like A Bird.

Letting go.
Probably one of the hardest endeavors we will face in our lives. Just the thought of freeing our hands and letting whatever we are gripping so hard onto just fall, is terrifying. Not to mention something we do more than ever as teenagers. I mean how can we befriend so many people and simply let them fall out of our lives so suddenly? What surprises me is our courage to do it intentionally.

Relationships, 90% of the time at our ripe adolescence, don’t last. We all know that the one we date in high school will probably not end up being the one we marry or share the rest of our life with. Well most of the time.
So why do we take on this commitment, if we know it’ll eventually end? If we know that one day we’ll have to leave that person and maybe never speak to them again? Well because we like that idea. Humans hate the concept of something permanent. As much as we don’t like to admit it, security scares us. The thought of always being able to have something whenever we need it for the rest of our lives is something we cannot stand. Why? Well for starters it’s boring. And second, we love the spontaneous factor in life. Some more than others. Being able to wake up in the morning and not know how the day will go is something we sometimes thrive on. Who wants to wake up knowing exactly how their day will go? I mean isn’t that why the movie Groundhog’s Day was made?

Back to what I was saying.

After we go through the kisses and the cuddling and the falling asleep to each other’s voices, there comes a time where we just say “…next.” Where we decide we’ve had enough and need something new.

Then comes the hard part. Loosening the tight grip we’ve had on this one person for so long and just letting them fall into their own lives without us. The way we can actually do this just blows my mind. The way we can readjust to our lives like some animal that was thrown in a completely different environment and left to survive. And when we finally decide to shut our eyes, hold our breath, and jump into the lives we know will hurt us for a while, we go through those dreadful stages.

There’s the Numbness. The denial, the “alright, I can do this, no biggie.” This of course comes after that whole night of sobbing and binging on chocolate.
Then comes the Irritation. The whole “he’s such an idiot/why did this happen/I wish I could erase everything” phase. The point where you just cry out of frustration all the time and blow up on your friend for dropping your pencil.
In the middle of all this comes Uncertainty. “Maybe he was right. Maybe I did do something wrong. ” This is when one basically bargains on whether or not they really want to remain without this person. It’s when we begin to blame ourselves and maybe even contemplate speaking to that person again.

When we’re almost there, Depression comes in. Yep, this stage is the worst but believe me when I say it always comes. The moping, the loss of confidence and inspiration in life. The “Am I even good enough?”
And when we’ve gone through this entire journey, when we get to the finish line with our clothes shredded and our bodies weak, there comes Acceptance. Giving us all hope that it will get better and that the hole in our heart will now be patched up with something else that makes us just as happy.

These stages sound a lot like the 5 stages of grief don’t they? Well that’s because when we let someone go, when we set them free from our lives to busy someone else's, we do mourn. Because it is losing someone extremely close to you. And although it may not be forever, it is for a long while, and most of the time abrupt. To just cut off communication so quickly from someone you’ve been around for so long is astonishing. And those who have done it should give themselves a pat on the back for being so brave and letting loose from the fixation that was binding them.

And when we do feel lonely, or sad, or regretful, that the person we enjoyed spending time with the most is out of our lives for good, we must always remember that we are just doing what we are programmed to do; live freely, move on, and be happy.

Let's Play "Find the Symbolism"

Landon had always been a different boy. No one had known much of his life except for the few mumbles he would occasionally exchange with strangers who had asked. Ever since I had met him he had been a mysterious fellow, something that had attracted me more to him, to his care free way of living.

Months had passed and we became inseparable. Spending the days together and unraveling each other's personalities, one ribbon by one.
But for some reason I felt I wasn't discovering every piece, and that there were still some places left untouched for no one to see.
Over time I had noticed his friends had started to disappear. They were no longer connected to him in any way and when I asked about it, he would shrug and tell me they had grown apart. One time he even told me they had moved away to a better place. Somewhere near Southern California.
But one thing I noticed was ever since I had met the boy, an infuriatingly bothersome tapping would occur on my window at night. The same small red bird would show up at my window for months, tapping away at my window and depriving me of my sweet rest. Every night I would try to go to sleep, and every night the patter began again. But each time I had thought to shoo the bird away, to get it far from my sanctuary, the thought of Landon had come to my mind, and his soft words put me at ease and I simply fell asleep.
Over time I saw Landon less and less, his life had become more of a mystery to me than I had expected it to be. He was disappearing and reappearing in my life without notice. When I would ask him where he was he would shrug and mumble something I couldn’t hear. My hearing had worsened through the weeks and I could barely hear a word unless someone had spoken up. My mother said it was because of the loud music I would play when the bird would show up.
It was Friday night and Landon had called me to go out to eat somewhere. I debated on whether or not I should leave, whether I should spend my time with him, and there was that noise coming from the window once again. The bird was louder this time. I never understood why it bothered me so much, but because of the it’s incessant pounding, I had decided to leave while my migraine hadn’t formed yet.

Motionless.
My eyes shielded, my limbs shaking from the harsh cold hitting it. My arms and legs tied, with nothing under them but cold metal.
I heard the heavy door open. A loud noise followed as it shut and footsteps became more and more clear even through the only muffled sounds my ears could produce.
I felt ice. Buckets and buckets of ice hitting my already numbed body. They hurt, more and more with each throw, each toss filled with such hatred.
I began to shake, to feel the anger in me envelop due to the frustrating cold.
The cubes hitting me like pieces of glass, penetrating my tough skin.

The pelting had finally stopped. I was left dripping with water, shaking uncontrollably and clenching my hands together as if it would warm me up even a little.
It suddenly became warmer. I could feel the sun beating down on my frozen skin, my blue hands and feet, loosening the rope and blindfold that had prohibited me from identifying anyone or anything.
I slowly took off the blindfold and squinted. Everything was so blurry, as if I hadn't seen it before, as if where I was standing was completely unfamiliar to me. Where am I? I thought. This can’t be somewhere I’ve been to before. As hard as I tried I could not make out the place.
But my eyes finally adjusted slowly to see I was standing right inside of Landon’s room.

I scrambled to run, to find a way out of the dim cell, but held my breath when I found him filling up buckets of ice outside. I froze in my footsteps and felt a chill run down my spine. He was going to hurt me, and had hurt others. The man I had always seen as my compassionate everything was a monster. And before I could regain my thoughts to turn around and escape, I felt a hand on my shoulder. “It would probably be in your best interest not to move” the deep voice behind me said.
The voice that had once told me I was beautiful.
I remained immobilized as I felt a hard object brush against my neck. Too scared to see what it was, I shut my eyes hard.
“This is me, this is who I am." he chuckled. "What, you didn't know?" he smiled slyly. "That's no surprise, you’re stupid anyway."
He made his way to me, speaking so closely I could feel his breath on my neck. “This is how I do it. Freeze them until they’re so numb they can’t feel a thing”. His grip on my arm had become tighter, his hands no warmer than my body. I attempted to look for an escape, anything that would free me from this grip that seemed impossible to break away from. But there was not a thing; just an empty room with a knife to my neck, waiting to take me away from my life.

I awoke out of breath, as if what I was dreaming of had stolen my life from me the entire time I had been asleep. Panting, I noticed I could see everything around my room, sharper, clearer than I was used to. I sprouted up to get myself some water but could barely hold the cup in my shaking hands.
I had returned to my warm room and sat down onto my bed. I let out a deep exhale and shut my eyes, attempting to analyze what had possessed my dreams to be so frightful. When I had finally decided to stand up, I peeked outside and was astonished at what I found before me. There on my window sill was a small red bird, motionless and dead.

I Feel With My Liver.

Mentally, people don't break. We're not toys that become damaged or bikes that come with a warranty.
We're made to heal and survive. One doesn't just crack open and leak until there is no more emotion left to flow through their veins. It's not like our hearts can just stop working due to too much abuse or sorrow. It heals, and slowly begins to work again.

What many people see their heart as is a giant emotion filled vessel in our chest where we keep all of our deepest secrets and thoughts.
Not just some pumping organ that helps distribute blood throughout the body.
What I've wondered is why the heart is the part we listen to? Why do we follow it and try to find so called keys to other people's?
I mean can't we think with our livers?

We get heartaches, bruised hearts, even broken ones. Well Literally speaking, when someone's heart breaks, they die.
So maybe we use this metaphor, since we literally need our heart to live. And since this vessel is so important to our well being, when they’re bruised or scarred, it does seem like the end of the world.
We speak of this heartbreak as if we are on the verge of dying! As if we name our hearts as the storage place for our emotions because of its ever-so precious value to the human body.
I mean with a battered heart, one cannot move on... let alone move, right?
You can fix a broken stomach or a bruised liver but it is true, the heart is our most important thing to have working. Because once it stops pumping, we cease to exist.
Maybe that's why break up’s are so dramatic.

People who claim to have no heart are barely even alive. Just floating around aimlessly and emotionless.

What is strange to me is that people brand themselves as broken when they've had bad pasts. When events have occurred before that have damaged their souls and simply left them scarred, according to them. As if they were an iPhone that was dropped in the water or something and just doesn’t seem to work right anymore.
Can we really be scratched or bruised?
After all, most of us see our hearts as a reflection of our outer selves, prone to blows and punches, slowly healing after each beating.
Those who don't want to get into relationships after a bad breakup; just looking out for their hearts. I mean they are still fresh with wounds. You can't blame them for only giving the necessary dosage of time and Neosporin to heal.
And by Neosporin I mean chocolate.

But we cannot dwell on these little cuts and bruises we get along the way of our
life. We shouldn't brand ourselves as damaged goods. We should call ourselves
courageous heroes who have made it through the battle with nothing but a few
scratches.
Because like all slices and wounds, the ones on our hearts heal. They heal until
the only thing you can see is a microscopic scar that brands you as nothing less
but a brave survivor.

Figure It Out.

A broken road.
Just one long, cracked, strip of asphalt ahead and nothing else beside me. There is nobody in front of me, and no one behind following me into the odd mystery in which I am dazily journeying to.

It’s hot. Man, it’s hot. Yet, I’m wearing a bunch of clothes, so many sweaters around my shoulders and articles wrapped around my head. I can barely see through the thick fabric, or smell, or breathe. I’m just walking…wandering.
I see headlights. I hear the sound of a car passing by, the tires hitting the cold pavement as they drive right beside me. I try to look, to see who it could be, someone to the rescue?
My eyes squint and force, but I simply cannot follow the direction of the stranger; I can’t make out where it’s going, where it came from.

Which way I’ve turned now, I have no idea. For all I know, I could be walking back the same way I came. But who’s to say where I’m going anyway? My direction is probably heading towards the same place I’ve been wandering to this whole time. I can’t help but notice the drop in temperature.
Man, it is freezing. I begin to shiver, to rub my hands together and breathe hot air into them as if it would take the pain away from my limbs that were turning into icicles. Maybe I should just keep walking, it will get warmer again…
I suddenly feel someone grab onto my legs, I turn around to find who is latching onto me with such need and desire, such miserable sadness that they need me of all people to save them from their darkness. But my vision is impaired, my sense of direction completely off track, the coldness turning me numb.
My heart beat quickens and my mind races, not knowing what to do, where to go. My throat closes in panic; I try to breathe but cannot get the sweet oxygen into my body.
And I attempt to run, to try to get to my sweet destination quicker and finally have the satisfaction of being able to breathe and feel, but stop in my tracks when I notice I shouldn’t be running when I can’t even see.