LACE TOP Winners / BAG thrifted / SHORTS Joe @ Superstore / WEDGES Urban Planet / SUNNIES Urban Outfitters
There are days when I carry complete contempt for the person I am (or am becoming).
It's easy to change how I act and respond to people and events -- but I can't change the way I feel.
It's tiring to keep up with everybody around me, even the people I've met at university and those I've gotten close to. Sometimes I find this burst of sociable energy and I'll call back my friends who've tried to reach me, and leave messages and comments on their Facebook. Sometimes it comes easily and I don't have to try too hard to return their respects.
But I rarely answer my phone calls, and I spend $6 per month for voicemail for a reason. I may take ages to read and reply to my texts, but on occasion I may take a few seconds.
It's just so hard to figure out which side of me is artificial and which one is real.
The girl who jokes around, is friendly and funny and "bubbly" (as described by a few people I've met), discusses vapid subjects with delight, smiles and laughs too much and too often... Or the girl who would rather confide in fictional characters (on T.V., in books, in movies) and Internet personas, is sarcastic and realistic, does not spill out any of her past, never with a story to tell but harbours a million opinions. The former is likeable and simple to understand. The latter is cynical and lives in the dark.
Then there's my physical appearance.
Some days I'll dress in accordance to how my generation would like a girl of my age to dress and other days I simply cannot.
I'm a contradiction no matter what.
Being happy with the way I look doesn't give anyone the right to call me out on it. If I'm wearing a really short skirt and I'm feeling like a supermodel, I don't want anyone to notice and honk at me or say "You look good" because then I feel like shit. Like I have to look this way because somebody expects me to look this way.
And I suppose this blog feeds into that idea (that I have to look a certain way).
But like I said, I'm not perfect. No blogger, no teenage girl, nobody on this Earth looks perfect.
I have problems with my skin, my shape, my hair, my height, my race, my uneducation. I have flaws that only I can see.
I don't want to be predictable but I don't want to be completely outrageous and wear ridiculous clown suits with makeup and rainbow Afro to match... just to entertain you.
I'm trying to find middle ground.
In both aspects of who I can be (or who I already am) and what I can look like.
P.S. You know how people are totally different when they're inside their home versus out in the world? Well, in my home I am still a child. It saddens me but suits me well. I'm a child, a baby, with no defined role in my family. I don't cook for my family, I don't clean. All I do is sit around, sit on the piano bench, sit on my bed, sit in front of my laptop, sit in my room. And it suits me well.
After moving out this time, I'll take on a role and it will give me purpose and it will redeem the child within me.