This was my english essay/a diary entry where I got a bit carried away. I took out my real name etc since I like this whole pseudonym thing.
Please feel free to critique and comment, it makes my day to even have a few lines to show that someone liked my writing enough to bother. Tranquility was born on the 21st of September 1994 in a small hospital in Britain. She was half an ounce above being declared underweight and that half ounce was probably only because of the size of her head. She had hair so blonde it was almost nonexistent and eyes as blue as every baby’s. Also, although at the time loving eyes happily glossed over the minor details, she was as ugly as most babies are wont to be at birth- before they figure out that the light of the world is harsher than that in the womb and not nearly as accepting.
She grew up, being taught good from bad, right from wrong, happy from sad. Her hair stayed that ridiculous shade of blonde but pushed its way out of her scalp until it was long enough to be easily seen. She remained skinny with a huge head and her eyes clung to an innocent baby blue while the thoughts behind them reluctantly left childhood behind. Her face was usually covered in a cheek-splitting smile and her tongue constantly moving, chattering nonsense. Teeth came and went. People came and went. Life flew past in a blur of colours and smells, emotions and textures, moments and lessons.
Blonde hair has the tendency to lose its ethereal paleness as one ages, as if real life takes the magic out of it; but instead of leeching the colour it adds reality to it in the form of darker tints. Blue eyes don’t always change but sometimes growing up isn’t easy, and maybe that’s where the green and grey flecks that mar the still baby-like blue come from. Big heads will always remain big heads but, as the harsh light of the world becomes harsher and more noticeable, one learns to hide flaws such as this.
So now she is a teenager. It used to be a dirty word; a word used by adults as they laughingly skimmed over the difficult and turbulent times they went through but perhaps which they automatically forget. Teenager- a much younger girl would laugh to hear about the emotions swaying out of control, at the hormones that tip and rock the already unsteady lifeboat of the soul. How can one person feel so much? However an older girl would smile a little sadly and with wisdom thought to be reserved for the very old. But wisdom doesn’t have to belong to the old, only to the experienced, and it only takes one moment to become experienced at something. And this girl has four years of experience behind her.
She sits, or perhaps lies would be a better word, in her bed with her bright yellow laptop on her lap. It made her smile when she first saw it. Too many of the new, modern creations are colourless and characterless, but a small, bright yellow laptop reminds her that it is possible to be unique and yet function in every way that is necessary. She types on keys that were once a pure white but that have absorbed the emotions being pounded into them too many times to remain untouched. She is trying to write an English essay.
It’s truly amazing how many words are part of the English language, and how they can be adapted and moulded into an infinite number of meanings. We don’t fully appreciate the fact that we can put our emotions and thoughts- which are generally images or feelings- into the air in sounds or onto paper in scribbles. With the use of different tones, emphasis and pauses, or lines, curves and separations we can actually express ourselves to people. And the fact that one person can press a few off-white keys and share her entire story, however abbreviated it might be, is nothing short of a miracle. A miracle too often taken for granted.
Thank you,
T xxx
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