“People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered. Love them anyway. If you do good, people may accuse you of selfish motives. Do good anyway. If you are successful, you may win false friends and true enemies. Succeed anyway. The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway. Honesty and transparency make you vulnerable. Be honest and transparent anyway. What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight. Build anyway. People who really want help may attack you if you help them. Help them anyway. Give the world the best you have and you may get hurt. Give the world your best anyway.”—(via eletheowl)
I’ve grown progressively more laconic these days. I’ve found that it takes more and more emotional energy to talk about things, and so when my friends ask me, “What’s wrong?” I have to make a snap decision whether or not I’m ready to talk about it. Most of the time the answer is “not really”, especially over the phone. I feel like I dominate the conversation when I tell my long, rambling stories, and so even when I do tell friends what’s up with me emotionally, I’m giving them a synopsis or a précis instead of a screenplay or short story. I’m a writer who only tells stories in writing nowadays, and not in person.
Fact: I hate talking on the phone or instant messaging people. I’d rather find my friends in person and speak to them about issues then if I can. I want to look into their faces and make appeals to them with my eyes and gestures. I hate the fact that technology trades the human element of conversation in for convenience. I hate having to guess what the other party is doing or saying with their faces and bodies on the other end of the line.
More than anything for my parents, I feel a sense of duty and obligation. I’m not one of those people that expresses their loyalties through words often, so I express them through action. They annoy me, frustrate me and upset me very often, but I do love them. I worry they think I’m a bad daughter because I’m just closer to my friends. It’s not like I don’t care about them; if I didn’t, I wouldn’t do what they say. I just identify stronger with my friends because they understand me, my viewpoint and my needs better, and I argue with them far less.
I will be 19 next week, but my dealings with the opposite sex have been few and far between. I spent most of my childhood and adolescence showing far too much interest. Still licking my wounds from rejection, frustration and dead ends, I generally now look at men with a wary eye. The few guys that have gotten to know me watch over me like brothers, but if a relationship was going to happen with them, it probably would have by now. Death Cab for Cutie said it best, you know; my heart is an empty room. Yeah, it’s got crown moulding and hardwood floors, but it’s still bare just the same. I wish it wasn’t. One of the few things that are lacking in my life (other than money) is intimacy, and sometimes it gets distressing.
I meet a lot of new people constantly. Preaching entails it, and so does college, and so does Facebook and so does Tumblr, definitely. People think I’m a whole lot more extroverted than I really am because I’m always talking to others. In reality, I’m pretty retiring, but I understand people well and enjoy listening to them.
I sit around on mornings like these in my pyjamas, relishing in sweet, ethereal silence. It’s days like this where I realize why I’m so terribly ambitious.
Fact: Because 90% of the time, I’m the only able bodied adult in the house, I often get stuck doing the house’s dirty work— the dishes, the laundry, the grocery shopping, the toilet cleaning. Even with my brother and sisters gone, I still feel like I’m some sort of a hausfrau, hired against my will.
This year, I’m hoping to escape that life. I’m going to be 19 years old on the 8th. I don’t want to end up spending one second of my 20s doing what I’ve been doing all of my adolescence—dealing with the consequences of my parents’ decisions.
All I seek is adventure, things to be passionate about and a home of my own to come back to. All I want to do is preach and dance and speak Spanish and play the drums and mind my own business.
There’s this place called Italian Fiesta. I haven’t been there since I was a wee lass, but my parents used to work there and I remember the food being awesome. There’s also a place I loved as a child called Leona’s.
I love books—big books, little books, embroidered books, plain books, paperback books, old books, new books, picture books, children’s books, books,books, books. I love their unique tactility—the rough, grainy texture of a hardback’s spine,the sharp crackling of a page turning, the delicate balancing act on your arm, your knees or your chest. Books have kept me company my whole life.
People tend to think I’m demure,bookish and quiet. In reality, I am deeply passionate, adventurous and frank. I just prefer subtlety to flamboyance, and balance to extremes.
I am almost never without music. My iPod is on my person 90% of my waking hours.
I was born in East Chicago, IN and spent my childhood years in Gary, IN. The population of Gary is 85 to 90% Black. I now live in Hazel Park, MI, where mullets, flannel shirts and pickup trucks roam free and easy. I hang out with and identify with White indie hipsters and punk rockers.
I’m more of a “I’ll do what I like!” kind of individual now more than I’ve ever been. I’ve never been this mentally autonomous, aggressive or disaffected before. It scares my parents.
In my mind, I imagine myself as either obese or waiflike Really, I’m neither; people use the word “voluptuous” or “buxom” to describe me. My personality doesn’t fit my appearance at all. In my mind, I look more like I did when I was a child— all angles, like a cubist painting.
I am not agnostic, atheist, political or philosophical, although it seems that most of the people I get along with best in the world are. Now that I consider it, I might very well be one of the most religious people on Tumblr and in my circle of peers.