New York City. 1995.
I was a small girl then, and the only thing that mattered to me was clinging to my mother's hand. We would walk through the streets going from store to store, making my short legs grow tired. Numerous were the faces we passed, and I remember trying to memorize some. I never once thought that the people we passed were special to someone else or even to themselves. It seemed like they were just figures, put there for me to see, say hello to, and pass by. It never occurred to me that I was only another young stranger, waiting to grow up and turn into somebody, good or bad. I never thought that I was as unimportant as another fish in the sea.
Chicago. 1999.
On my birthday, I remember sitting at the table with family and the few friends I had surrounding me, watching me open presents and blow out the candles on my cake. I didn't understand what was so special about putting out a few small fires and watch me unwrap the presents. After all, if I didn't put the fire out, I would still be the new age and still get the presents, right? All I really wanted was to eat the cake, and drag the presents to my room where no one would be able to see my reactions. What is it they wanted to see? Hadn't they seen the presents before they wrapped them? Even still, my birthday was my favorite occasion of the year, possibly because I could stay up as late as I wanted and eat all the ice cream I was capable of digesting. I never thought birthdays were days you shared with other people. When my father explained to me that hundreds, maybe millions of other people in the world shared my birthday with me, I was shocked. In a way I was offended, and that made me feel slightly less special. After that, my birthday was no longer my favorite day of the year.
Miami. 2001.
I used to think that when you left a place, everything there stopped until you returned. I always thought that I was the only one that grew up, and when I returned to the old places that everyone would be the same. It was disappointing to me to find out that things still did go on and that everyone would not be happy to see me if I ever did go back.
When I heard about the World Trade Center, I didn't fully understand. Even though everyone said it was true, I thought it was just for the news and when I returned to New York, I would still be able to ride the elevators to the roof. I cried though. But that was only because my parents were crying too, possibly mourning the loss of a relative. But I cried because it was strange to see my parents crying.
Los Angeles. 2003.
I used to live with the concept that everything is the same. Even though changes were evident and it was easy to see that people were different, I still believed that every man went to work like my dad, and every woman had a daughter or a son. I couldn't imagine homes where the family doesn't eat together, the parents are too busy to play games with the kids, and the kids don't hear bedtime stories. I used to think that even as I grew up, everything would stay the same for me. Tying my shoes alone made me feel proud of myself, but when my parents let me know that for the rest of my life, I am going to have to be independent, I suddenly felt vulnerable. It felt like everything in the world was rushing to me faster than I could handle.
Houston. 2005.
As I grew up, the reality of things became clearer for me. I no longer asked questions about the obvious, nor did I talk as much as I used to. I used to assume that change was something you could bring in a day, as easy as toy change your clothes. As my life progressed, I noticed that I was changing too, a slow gradual change process that took months, or years to be exact. I realized that even though I live inside of the body that's changing both mentally and physically, I am the one that sees the least of my changes. I feel it most. But I see very little of it, if I see any of it at all.
Seattle. 2007.
Growing up, I thought little, if any of Death. I always thought it was something that happened when you grow old and no one cares about you anymore. I never had any pets that died, and made me cry over their corpses. I always imagined it to be a slow process.
When my mother died, I didn't know what to do. I couldn't make sense of my emotions, and even though I still had my dad, I felt like I had no one there for me. I couldn't believe that she wasn't ever going to kiss my head again or hold me when I cried. I needed someone, or something, to fill in the place her death had created. Many things I tried. But nothing worked.
Honolulu. 2010. I never understood the true meaning of age. I always assumed it was just the number of candles on your last birthday cake. But now that I'm older, I realize that age is a matter of understanding. The number of years you've lived can have an effect on how you interpret things, but it can't judge your abilities and skill levels. I don't celebrate my birthday anymore, and when an old friend from Texas called to wish me a happy nineteenth birthday, I was shocked. I looked in the mirror and studied my overall appearance. I looked older than the general nineteen year old population. My face was nearly colorless and thin, and my brown hair hung limp around my shoulders. Even though I understood that time passes, it never hit me ▬ until my nineteenth birthday ▬ that the children of the nineties will grow old, and that my childhood was gone. Forever.
Philadelphia. 2012.
Honor. My entire life revolved around this five letter word, but I never understood its meaning in full. It's something you have to live by, in, and under.The definition of honor is in a dictionary, but it's meaning is in life, and cannot be put to words.
London. 2015.
My life seems to have been lived around misconceptions. I always envisioned that it would be easy to buy a house and live there forever. I tried many times in one year, but I failed. After my father died, I realized that I have no home until I create one for myself. I've been a stranger, the new kid for my entire life, and I decided that before I settle down, I'll travel the world for sometime. I walk through the grey streets of London, so colorful to my eyes, and smile at the residents and travelers. I silently pray that these children in the streets will grow up with a home to forever return to.
I don't think my life is ruined or that I've lived the wrong way. I only feel that I could've been taught some lessons about life earlier on, so that they wouldn't have hit me so hard when I learned them. But then again, I may be wrong. Some lessons can't be told in words, only through experience. And some of those lessons that are learned through experience can be described in words, but perhaps everyone doesn't know how to do that. I know I still that I have a lot more lessons to learn, and a life to live. I know not when I'll join my parents, but in a way, I hope it's soon.
I'm afraid I was too quiet, but... um... turn it up? And it's sort of long, but I rant a lot, so yay? XD
