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What is it about our society that makes different equal bad? Why is the kid in class who doesn’t have a place to sit at lunch on the first day of school instantly dubbed weird? I think that everyone has a “weird” quality, possession or characteristic. For me, it’s the poster hanging in my room with all my favorite quotes and poems on it, and I’ve yet to find some huge grammar mistake or something that makes it weird, but people point and giggle anyway. What is it that makes people jump on other people differences instead of embracing them?
Monday. Violin lessons. The color of the polished wood of the instrument is something that simply cannot be expressed. It is a mixture of honey, timber, and gold, with each color softly toned down and blended perfectly. Every curve is precise, perfectly round, in a smooth curvy shape, which also cannot be described. Each string passes over the symmetrical wooden bridge and ends up at the very top, which looks as if someone did take this thick piece of wood and roll it up as if it were a scroll. From every string comes the beautiful music, taking me away.
I’m sitting here with absolutely nothing to do. There is something that truly amazes me: how much I now dislike history class this year, all because of the incompetence of my teacher, “teaching” whatever enters into her head. There is a glare on the whiteboard, so I couldn’t see what was on it, even if I wanted to. I don’t want to move slightly to reduce the glare, because if I did I would see the most complicated philosophies in the simplest, disheveling explanation that makes the whole thing lose its true meaning. This is my full, yet empty classroom.
Why is it so incomprehensible to some people that others can and will, do things without their consent? Why does the ringleader of a group always want to convince the slightly lowlier ones that it is their way or the high way? The fact that I don’t want to do something simply because I don’t want to should be reason enough, so why does everyone think that if they come up with reasons why I should do it, I will then change my mind. It bugs me every time something like this happens because I hate feeling that way inside.
First snowfall. Every surface in sight is covered in a beautiful white blanket of cold crystals. Staring out the window in the early morning, the snow is impeccable, with absolutely no blemishes in the perfect white coverings. At the end of the day, the perfection of the smooth coat will have been destroyed by a lot of shoveling, numerous walks, snowball fights, and trampling during the day. By nightfall, nothing will be left of the beautiful silence that traps the morning. But for now, there is nothing but silence, and the soft, shimmering snowflakes that are floating past my windowsill.
The tiger paces up and down in her cage. She is beautiful, majestic, almost royal. She is not free, and the hills and trees beckon to her. Her looming body and her unfaltering eyes display her desperate need to be free of her beautiful prison. Her curiosity toward those who have come to watch a creature that is truly meant to be free is also exhibited in her cloudy, storm-gray eyes. But this curiosity toward those who have caused her so much pain and have obstructed her freedom takes a backseat to her desperate need to run, to be free.
The girl is short, pale, and skinny. Her brown hair is mouse-ish, and full of skimpy curls. Her eyes squint, and her tongue sticks out when she laughs, which, all to often, occurs when there is food in her mouth. Yet, with an impartial mind, one might initially call her pretty. It is hard to believe that this person is one whom I detest, one of the two people who I dread seeing every day, and pray that I won’t. It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact beginning of my abhorrence, and even more so to explain every grievance against her.
This girl is different, yet, somehow, strikingly similar to the girl I saw yesterday. She is tall and big-boned. The curls of her hair are thick. I have never seen a smile on her face; perhaps one of the reasons I dislike her is her inability to laugh. It must be this same quality that makes her cut lines into the dark flesh of her forearm. On a few scary occasions, these lines form words, in a secret language that only she can understand. I know that she will never admit that these words are just a cry for help.
A list of my predictions of what my friends (or people I truly detest) will become when they grow up:
KJ- will take over the world,
Bailey- will die trying to take over the world
Rebecca- will start her own health food chain (or become a Kindergarten teacher)
Sarah- will start in a bunch of movies (example: The Sequel to Forty Days and Forty Nights, etc.)
Marie- will get sued for malpractice.
Brian- will become one of those people who impersonates doctors, lawyers, etc.
My Brother- won’t do very much with his life
Linden- will discover a cure for cancer
I sigh and lean back in my chair, and give the proper response to the question: “What?”
“I’m going to ask my parents if I can change schools.”
I blink and sit up straight. Is my phone making her my friend’s voice all fuzzy again? Whatever I had been expecting, this was definitely the farthest from it.
I decide to gracefully clarify what I had just heard: “What?”
I hear her continue to babble on about why she wants to change schools, and where, but my mind slowly begins to tune out what she’s saying.
It’s happening again.
I’m not popular. That is a very interesting fact about me. Another one is that I simply do not care. I don’t understand what exactly sets my peers apart from everybody else, what makes them above another person. I know part of it is being different, but please tell me what is so different between them and me. I’ve never understood it, and I don’t think it’s something that you are magically endowed with once you enter the popular clique. I want to know what it is, so I can pledge to avoid it for the rest of my life.
I hate exams. Exams really bug me. Just in case you hadn’t figured it out, I am sitting here, studying for my history exam, which is tomorrow, the first of my five midterms. Of course, the only bright side of the whole thing is that all my exams are before Christmas vacation. Actually, there is one other bright side. See, the each exam is two hours long, but if we finish half and hour early, we get to leave. Thank god, because, knowing my history teacher, this is going to be one of the easiest exams I have ever had.
So, I was right. This exam was easy. I finished the whole thing in about an hour, so I had to sit around for half an hour, which was incredibly annoying. Then, the teacher who was proctoring the test didn’t see me raise my hand, so I had to sit there, with my hand raised, until she noticed me. Then she got mad and made a speech to the class about how we had to go at exactly half an hour before the test ended, even though the rule actually is anytime after the mark, you can leave, but whatever.
The funny thing is that I honestly don’t remember not being able to read. I’m not sure if that is a good thing. Well, I have memories from when I was about two, and I’m willing to bet that I couldn’t read then (but I’m honestly not sure), but I can’t remember struggling to read, or sounding out words, or my teachers telling us what each letter sounded like, or whatever. I mean, I remember being in second or third grade and sounding out big words like antidisestablishmentarianism (or something like that), but I can’t remember not reading at all.
Once again, it was too good to be true. Last year, when I was looking at other high schools, all I heard from my parents was “extracurricular activities.” Now that I think about it, that word was present in every other sentence in every other conversation we had last winter. And now, I’ve joined my fifth (the others being soccer outside of school, violin lessons, my SCG- Currents Events Group, and Student Congress) extracurricular activity, Mock Trial, and amazingly, my parents couldn’t care less. It might be the dramatic focus on liberalish things, which my parents aren’t too wild about.
Once again, exams were not as hard as I expected. This is just like when my math teacher scared the heck out of my class last year about high school. Which I think was the cause of a bunch of the kids who left to leave. Does that make any sense? Of course it does. Well, actually, the theology exam was easy, but biology was a piece of work. For the record, while I know what the membrane of the mitochondria is called, I don’t know what the folds of the membrane of the mitochondria are called. End of rant.
How is it that I was so worked up about exams at the beginning of the year than I am now? Last year’s exams were easier than this year’s, and I was so much more freaked out and I studied much more. In fact, I studied very little this year, mostly for biology and English; biology because of all the facts the teacher makes us know, and English just because we hadn’t reviewed at all. It’s kind of hard to study a lot for math, theology I just look at the old tests, and history and Spanish are really easy.
So after our last exam (Spanish- incredibly easy) Rebecca, Christina, other Christina, Kelly, Avneet, Marie, Sarah, Sam and I all took the metro to see The Lord of the Rings, which was the best movie I’ve seen since…Harry Potter. Except we had to wait for one hundred people who had priority seating to go in front of us. And we had an interesting event at lunch with hot sauce. And there was a person dressed up as Frodo, which was very amusing. And hopefully I’ll get to see it again when my uncle comes to visit us for Christmas.
So it was the end of exams yesterday, and I got three of them back today. Well, actually, one wasn’t entirely graded; the essays weren’t finished, but close enough. And here I am, thinking of exams even after they ended. What is wrong with me? And of course, the day before we get out for Christmas break calls for…Feast Wishes practice. Where we always get yelled at for “shouting instead of singing.” It wouldn’t be Christmas if we didn’t get yelled at for shouting instead of singing. And I got fudge from my secret Santa, and it’s really yummy.
Happy Birthday Grandpa. It has always bugged me that my grandfather’s birthday is right around Christmas. It’s not his fault, but it means that I have to think of presents for his birthday and Christmas, and it is very hard to think of presents for my grandfather because…he’s weird. So I have a wonderful dinner party full of four middle-aged people that I don’t know, and one old person I do know and don’t like. And even if I flee to the refuge of my room, I will still have to endure the laughter that resonates through the house.
I think I was in third or fourth grade when I found out that there wasn’t a Santa Claus. Well, the more intellectual side of me knew that already, but the rest of me wanted to embrace the rest of my childhood and refuse to accept it. I found out earlier than most of my grade, because I remember standing in line in the lunchroom while the other kids argued, but knowing that I knew the truth. I found out when I caught my dad being the tooth fairy, and my brilliant powers of deduction figured it out from there.
My favorite member of my family is my uncle. I have two uncles, and two aunts, for that matter. One aunt and one uncle are married to each other, and the other two are my parent’s siblings and are not married. The uncle that I am talking about is my mother’s only sibling and came to visit us today. He is responsible for fueling my liking of science fiction and fantasy books, because he likes them too. My parents hate them, and they have always been making subtle comments about how stupid they are. My other uncle is a fisherman.
When I was really little, I think I was a lot more caring and generous than I am now. When I was about four, Christmas not only meant getting presents, but it also meant giving presents to other people and seeing their reactions when they opened them. Now, I focus a tiny bit more on the getting than the giving. I mean, I still like giving people gifts and seeing their reactions, but I also like getting gifts a little more than I used to. I guess I could use a little Tiny Tim Christmas spirit. God, I’m being morbid.
Christmas Eve. In my family, our tradition is the Christmas celebration actually starts on Christmas Eve, at around six thirty. Right around that time, my family (myself, my brother, my parents, my uncle, who is visiting us, and my grandfather) goes up the street to our neighborhood Christmas party, which is always pretty fun. We come home after about forty-five minutes and have dinner (which is usually beef) and if we have desert, it is the leftover birthday cake from my grandfather’s birthday party. Then my grandfather reads ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, and then we all go to bed.
Christmas Day. The second half of our family Christmas tradition. I’m very big on tradition, so this is always exciting. So we spend the better part of the morning unwrapping Christmas presents. The early afternoon is spent napping (that’s mostly just my father) and tinkering with our new Christmas presents. We go out to Christmas dinner, usually at some fancy hotel that my grandfather has found, and we top it off with driving to see the national Christmas trees, but we can’t drive very close to them these days. Other news: I had my first white Christmas and Christmas Eve.
I first began to grasp the true meaning of Christmas when I was watching A Charlie Brown Christmas for the first time. I’ve memorized practically the whole thing, especially from the part where Linus is making his speech about what Christmas is about on. This is kind of stupid, considering I go to a Catholic School and was going there at the time, so I knew the story of Christmas and everything. But when I watched it, I learned how it applied to the real world and stuff. And I still watch A Charlie Brown Christmas on TV every year.
Traveling always makes me tired, which makes absolutely no sense. After sitting on a plane, and in a car all day, you would think that I’d be anxious and grateful to be able to move around, but for some reason, traveling makes me tired. And today I’m even more tired, because our first plane was an hour late, so we missed our second flight (which is about an hour) and we had to drive to our final destination (the drive is about three hours). So, needless to say, I am very tired, but hopefully this vacation will be worth it.
I strongly dislike golf. Under most circumstances, I love (or at least somewhat like) most things that have to do with the outdoors. One of the few exceptions is golf. I’ve yet to figure out if my true dislike of it is because it involves spending two and a half hours with my parents, or if it’s just boring and there are about fifty things I’d rather be doing, or if I just hate golf, period. However, I’m pretty sure that it’s a combination of all three. Now that I’m in Florida, we can play golf every other day.
“God gave me the serenity to accept the things I can’t change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
My mom just fed me that quote in an attempt to not make me “try and change my father.” And it’s not like I want to change him, just keep him off my back. She also gave me this line that he doesn’t want to change me. Of course he does! Why does she think he puts up with me this much? He’d love to change me if he had the chance to.
I really don’t want my friend to change schools. If she does now, I’ll be the only one of my gang left. And I’d be glad that my friend escaped the torment of my slightly oppressing Catholic school, but I’d miss her. Just like I miss all my other friends who left my school at one time or another. Is there something wrong with me that I’m the only one left? Like I’m too weak or stupid to see the light, or something? I’ve lost touch with most of them except for two. I don’t want to lose another friend.
New Year’s is really getting too commercialized. I’m yet to be convinced why we even celebrate this holiday. Why do people want to celebrate the holiday when everything changes? I don’t like change, I’d much rather things stay as they are. Actually, I’d rather things be the same as they were a few years ago, when all my friends went to the same school, and the world was slightly less complicated. Now it seems that the world is much too big for me, but it doesn’t seem to change a lot day by day, just on these big, changing holidays.
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