Chapter 44: To Parents

“Ugly shoes”
“Why would you want to wear that?”
“Do you hate yourself so much that you have to dress like that?”
“Stop trying to draw attention to yourself”
“You only wear that to stand out”
“Just dress normally”
“Do as I say”
“Because I said so”
“You’ll wear this weather you like it or not”
“You make me sad when you don’t wear the clothes I bought you”
“You dress like a tramp”
“That makes you look like a little harlot”
“Black is bad”
“Goth is about sick, dark, things!”

Have you ever heard this or anything like it? Maybe you’re not a goth or maybe you don’t even associate yourself with a subculture. Maybe you do because it’s the ONLY way to describe yourself to people so they even remotely understand. Do you’re parents just not “get” you? This message is for parents, but kids, I’m going to say a few things to you first that I’ve noticed since I’m older than I was when I was a young, rebellious, teenager.
First, if your parents don’t beat you, have a drinking problem, a history of creepy violence, a criminal record, mental illness, or don’t starve you, tell you to clean your room, or have a fit when you get Ds in school, then trust me, they care about you. So why are they so mean? So misunderstanding? Well, if you’re not the oldest, then they’ve been down this road before and are wondering why they have to do it again. Have you ever had a dog? You got it when it was a puppy, trained it and then it died. Then you got another puppy! Suddenly, this puppy is peeing all over the house and chewing on your shoes and tracking mud into the house! Argh! Didn’t you just train a dog? Now you have to do it all over again. How annoying, right? Well guess what? Your parents have already raised a kid or 2 (or 4 in my case). They are getting old (though they will deny it) and are tired of teaching kids the same thing. Yes, they are supposed to be loving and everlastingly amazing, but they’re not. Just like you’re not. Take pity on them and understand this. And if you need to storm at them, DON’T. Do it where they can’t see you. And for heaven’s sake, don’t post it on the internet… You want to be treated like a grown up? Act like one! Depending on your age, that could be asking a lot.
Next, because your parents probably love you and care about you, they want you to stay away from all the creepy things they know. For my parents this is: Long hair, guys with earrings, tattoos, “scary looking” people and the like. A sad thing is that I ADORE long hair on guys. As long as it’s clean. So what do I do? I find out why they hate long hair. Easy, my parents were raised pretty conservative…in the 60s and 70s. The people with the long hair were NOT people you wanted your kids hanging out with. (Sorry, I’m a violence, drug, alcohol in excess hater). So I understand now. Does that change what I love? No. Can I change my parents? No. Figure out some middle ground if you have to.
 So parents, I’d really like to talk to you now that I’ve given Junior a bit of the picture. Let’s talk about what not to say to your kids. Most of them were in the opening of this essay.
Just give it up and be “normal”. Ok, let me go and get a personality nip-tuck so you’ll like me better. Because I must submit for you to love me. I must not be who I am or who I am trying to discover I am; I must be who you think I should be. Maybe I’m not really dark and melancholy? Maybe I glory in it too much? Just change. It’s not that easy. Don’t say anything to your kid that will make them question who they are.  I know that sounds far-out, but trust me, please. Be there to guide them, not control them. YOU raised them, right? You’ve already taught them how to think (brainwashed?)! Trust what yourself did in the past with this kid and let him think for himself now. Do it while he’s still young (ok, maybe 16) and he’ll learn more than you can ever shove down his throat. Let him crash and burn. BUT. Be there to help him up again when he asks. I’m not saying let your kids run around with drugs and prostitutes. No, if you did your job the first 14 or so years of this kid’s life, then you don’t have to worry about them doing that too much.
So let’s get to the heart of the matter now that we’ve covered basic child rearing. You have a goth child? I’m so happy for you! Please, don’t freak out! She’s a great kid, really. Wait…you don’t know what music she likes? Her closest friend’s names? What they do when they’re together? Uhh, do you know her shoe size? Favorite food? Book?
Ok, see, we have a bigger problem. I know it stinks and you hear it all the time, but get to know your kids! They will indeed go through the phase of “Ah, mum, don’t drop me off, can’t I ride with so-and-so?” Face it, dads, you’re not that cool anymore and you won’t be for a few years to come.  Unless you are one of those magic parents who manage to be awesome and cool, but then you don’t really need to be reading this do you? So, getting to know your kids. When they come home from a friend’s house, ask them what they did. Do this from the day they are born and don’t scream at them for doing stupid stuff (correct them, don’t yell) and they will more than likely always tell you what went on; you’re safe territory. They don’t fear what your reaction will be. Also, understand this: When kids ( I don’t know about boys so much, but we girls…) get to a certain age, there are things they won’t feel like telling. Maybe ever. Respect that. What was one thing you never told your mum? Just ask.
Now, one way to not to get to know you kid is by rifling through their room and journals. DO NOT DO THAT. I promise, you WILL find something that hurts or enrages you. If you are integrated into your kid’s life, you’ll be able to see when they are hiding something bad or harmful because there will be a change that you will notice because of how well acquainted with your child you are.
Alright, so we understand that you have to talk to your psycho kid to get to know them, right? What if they won’t listen? Maybe you and your kid are best friends, then she turns 14 and the next thing you know, she hates you, argues with you, won’t do anything you say and, oh, mother of pearl! She’s wearing black! Congrats, again. You now have an angsty, teenage gothling on your hands. Maybe you are one of the millions of parents who got dealt the shorter straw and your blessed sweetie will snap out of it in a few years. In the mean time, what I’m about to say applies to you too.
Rule number one: NEVER tell your kid it’s a phase. When you say this, they see the hope in your eyes and will do everything in their power to make it your worst years of child-care ever. On the flip side, it hurts a true gothling to hear a mother say, “You’ll grow out of it, hun,” when they really don’t feel any different and have simply discovered an outlet for the feelings they’ve had for as long as they can remember.

AN ASIDE: Let me just say right now, that all you know about goth is fake. Goths are not all satanic (some are, but some “normal” people are too, right? It’s not a fair or logical judgment), don’t think about suicide, and don’t want to drink blood or sacrifice animals in the woods. So get all those notions out of your head, because the only right one is that Goths wear mostly black.

So you have a goth kid now. Everything that I’ve already said still applies. You just get a few more spices thrown in. Good ones too, which I will try to be brief about.
Goths just like looking for beauty in strange places. We like things that others don’t and speak the language of coarse-joking and sarcasm well. This includes laughing our faces off at goth-jokes. They are funny, even to goths. Most Goths look whimsical and magical. You may have gotten us mixed up with our spike-wearing, gauged-ear, Mohawk brethren the Punks. Goths are far more elegant than that (we try any way. I have been sporting jeans and t-shirts with my hectic schedule). We listen to a variety of music (to each his own, just like “normal” people), have many likes (not every goth loves Tim Burton?? It’s true…), and think many ways. Goths are as varied as the grains of sand. We just have a different fashion sense. (Speaking of which, goth kids, buy clothes from the thrift store and make them up however you want. It’s cheaper and so much more fun! And no one else will have it!)
So, back to your gothling! Get to know them. Don’t ask them “Why do you like this?” because they’ve liked it for some time, they can just express it now. I, for example, have been a dramatic melancholy my whole life. However (listen up baby bats!), as I grew up, I also let myself laugh and now I am one of the bubbliest people my friends know. See? Goths are happy too! Those mopey little critters you see in the mall are still young. Give them some time to adjust.
Have you ever thought that you, as the parent, are to blame for excess mope at home? What would you do if your significant other said to you one day, “You know what? I hate your attitude and the way you’ve been acting. Oh, and those shoes and that outfit make you look fat and ugly” and then walked away. Yeah, that’s how your kids feel when you say things as simple as “Why do you have to wear that?” See why they might mope a bit when they’re around you? (Granted, girls, wearing skirts that don’t hide your butt and corsets that you’d pop out of if you jumped are not exactly OK to wear. More on that later.) If they are mopey and quiet around their friends too, maybe it’s a temporary front until they figure themselves out or maybe they just don’t talk as much.
 Alright, so you’re getting to know your kid. Good. You’re letting them make decisions because you did well the first few years and raised them well. Good.  You’re there to help them when they fall. Excellent. You are doing well.
So, here are some goth-perks now that you and your gothling are on the right track. Goths tend to be pretty smart and artistic. But I wanted my baby to be a doctor and or rocket scientist! Oh, go cry a river and build a bridge to get over it. If you encourage and help your kid while you have the chance, then she’ll be successful at whatever she does! Isn’t that weird? When you see your child of the night has a talent, help them develop it. Encourage them. Also, they tend to be smart. They may be hard to teach at first, but they will learn the value of knowledge faster than the average kid. This is something I’ve noticed and thought it was rather interesting. Goths also tend to be more tolerant than other people. But they are also very firm in their beliefs. This is a side-effect of raising your child well. Couple that with a goths passion and you have a kid firm in what he believes in. So yes, they are very tolerant, but they know who they are what they stand for. Trust them.
Another goth-perk that I have had great luck with (that other dads will love as well) is that being goth is rather…errmm…intimidating. I am 22 years old and have not had one date yet. Have I had a thousand and one offers, oh, lord yes. Millions. For some reason, guys are really drawn to goth girls, but some are put-off by them too! It’s actually no mystery why, but bat girls, watch yourself out there. The reason I have not gone off and gotten laid or even out to a movie is because I have worked hard on who I am, as my parents have, and I know what I need to do. I am career-driven and have a few good friends. That’s all I need. When it’s time for you to get a partner of interest, it will happen. Don’t go fishing though…ever. So, being goth seems to keep some guys at bay. How nice!
Now, a note for the gothlings out there: When you get older you will have to go to this thing called a job interview. Oh, lord, not those! I know, I know…but you know what’s awesome about being goth? The goth-look that you love so very much comes in professional clothes too! If you are a baby goth then you probably don’t believe me. But they do. You just have to find them and customize your own “office goth” look. It can be very fun and really flattering for the dude-goths out there.
So, parents, there you have it. There are good things to being a goth and it’s nothing to be scared of. Rather, fear not raising your child to the best of your abilities. THIS DOES NOT MEAN STOMPING THE GOTH OUT OF YOUR KID. Like I said, most kids are that way from day one, they just discover how to express it in a way they like later in life. That’s the best advice I can give. Get to know your child, teach them the way that they should go, and let them make decisions of their own.
Gothlings, my parents aren’t perfect either. I wrote this from experience. Most parents will never understand until they are secure in themselves. I understand you want to be loud and crazy with your clothes, but you need to understand that that scares the blood out of your mum and dad. Make up for it by being polite, respectful, and hard working. I PROMISE you that if you do this your parents will come around and trust you. It’s hard. I’m working on it now as well. I’m not there yet, but it’s my goal. Parents, when you see your kid trying, be genuinely pleased. Smothering them will only do what smothering does do: Kill. Don’t kill your kid’s passion and curiosity.
That’s all for today.  I have more to say, but that will come at a later date. I will also be talking about a very special kind of goth that doesn’t get much publicity these days. I hope this was helpful even though it was rather scattered. I tried to keep it neat, but failed.
See you next time, love and prayers,

~Abigail

A Short Poem Written Just Now With No Editing

The Lady

Would that I could touch her hair,
those waving locks of a brown river,
in the heat of summer.
So soft, like the new pelt of a doe
and as silky the lushest gossamer.
The Longing to wrap myself in
her long tresses and drink up
their scent of honey suckle
is too tempting to my lustful senses.

When I look into her eyes
the I can see whole universe
reflected in their dark, blue
pools surrounded by the whitest
plane of liquid snow. And in their
centers is the black hole of knowledge
with its playful gleam of mystery.
In this darkness—sweet mystery—
I lose myself for hours, seeking
what lay behind those orbs
of galaxies.

Her lips are mocking smiles,
sly roses that sweet promises
slip between. I do not care
whether falsehoods or honesty
are spoken so long as I can hear
the melody in which she speaks.
Oh, crimson messenger,
how can you bring me such delight
and such pain?

I’d rather see my love fly through
a field of the greenest meadow
flecked with the wildest flowers
in a gown of rainbow-white
than see all the sunsets of this earth.
Forgive me, Great Creator, but the sun
which burns in the sky and lights my
every day is the darkest shadow
when set next to my love.

The sensual touch of her honey skin
is smoother than purest water
and warmer than sheets heated by the sun.
Her softness is purest joy in its tenderness.
Touching this flesh is better pleasure than
the fat of Shea upon my own skin.
Give me my love but only to touch
and look upon and I shall be satisfied.



 

Chapter 43: The Mystery of the Dead Laptop

What exactly happened to my computer was beyond my understanding of technology at first. It just died. Wouldn’t turn on or anything. Of course I took it to the shop, paid through the nose for a diagnostic test and they said the hard drive was melted and destroyed. I sighed. Yes, I was a girl who used her laptop on her bed and floor. But not that often. Really hardly ever. But I guess it must have been enough to kill the poor thing. So I pay a rather large three digit number to get it a new heart and I have a computer for a few more months. Then, of course, the same thing happens later. I take it to another store, pay for a diagnostic and they say the same thing.

“But I never had it on the floor or my bed!” I protest uselessly. “How did this happen?”

Seeing my strange, over the top, and rather unnecessary upset, the technician says, “Give another day with it and I’ll see what I can find.”

Two days later the they call and give me the news: “Your laptop’s mother board was never working. It couldn’t ever tell the fan when to come on and cool the unit down, so it melted itself both times.”

Oh, the agony! My poor laptop was mentally retarded and committed suicide due to a malfunctioning brain! They said they would fix it, mother board, hard drive, but it would be about $850. I died. Then I told them no, thanks.

So for the last semester and half I have had this corps of a laptop sitting on my keyboard (also alone since I have no computer to make music with it on) and every once in a while, I would turn it on to see if it would magically boot up. No such luck…until the other day.

I believe I mentioned the Columbus Foundation trip? And how I would have to save up really hard and make a lot of money to be able to afford to take four weeks off for that? Well, have also mentioned how I continually said, “Oh, God, if I had only (insert amount of money here) then I’d never have to worry about a thing again!” Because money is all I fret about to be honest. What I didn’t know was that God was replying, “Uh, yeah, I know. I kind of want you to depend on Me.” I ignored that.

So I never got a magic genie with tons of money. And working to save up for the trip has been hard. Then, on this past Sunday, my pastor preached on what? The love of money. I know, an old sermon topic, but pastor Kelly is AMAZING. His sermon really touched a nerve in my heart. The kind that makes you glare at the preacher while he’s talking. So on Sunday, I said eff it and gave up the money-grubbing idea. I still was going to work hard and save, but worry and fretting about it wasn’t getting me anywhere. Or getting me a new laptop.

In the kitchen that afternoon while mum was making dinner, I told her about the sermon and how earlier dad had said there was no way I was doing the Columbus trip. Then I said, “Maybe if dad really won’t let me go, I’ll save up for a laptop.” Pause. “Or maybe if not that, I’ll save up to go to Kansas City and visit Elise. I don’t know.” Right after that, I go upstairs to do some French homework and decide to give the laptop a try. I switch it on and forget about it for a few hours. It tries all its normal “instant self repair” things that never work and finally it asks if I want to go to a save point and restore from there. Well I didn’t have one. AND the laptop hadn’t gotten this far in a long time. Pressing my luck, I look for a “factory restore” option and after some searching, I found it. Hmmm….I push and let it go for some time as, magically, it all starts over again. And within two hours, my laptop is up and operating again! I wonder how long this will last. I haven’t turned it off for fear of it never coming back on. Was it my music making software that screwed it up? I don’t know. I’m going to try putting it back on and not download anything else. I’m not even putting my files back on. Going to keep it clean and work off my external hard drive.

So….what’s up, God? Heard me say I was going to save up for a laptop…OR Kansas? What do you want me to do? Something is happening and I don’t what You’re up to, but I’ll play along. Maybe there’s even some simple technological explanation for why my laptop is working and I only have a few days to use it? I don’t know. All I know is the freak coincidences that happened that Sunday.

I still work hard. Harder than ever if I can. I must study and save. Well, we’ll see.      

Chapter 42: Back to work!

Spring break is over and all too soon... It was as if the professors decided since I'd have the whole week off, they'd have tests right when we start again. Oh, and do ALL this assigned stuff while you're at it. It wasn't too bad. I did get to visit the ocean (ok, ok the gulf) for the first time in months. I missed it so much. When I got out of the car, I stood near the water on the cool, dark sand and let my hair down so the sea breeze could destroy the hours that went into straightening it. I don't know how many people know this, but sea water and sea wind curl your hair like nothing else. But I didn't mind. It was like the sea was happy to have me back. It was too chilly to go swimming, but I ran in the surf and let the waves lick at my knees and hips any way.
On that note, I mentioned to dad (must have forgot to earlier before making my huge plans) that I was going to volunteer with the Columbus Organization and sail on the Nina and Pinta for a portion of the summer. I mean, come one, a gypsy pirate type like me would never pass that up! And he did as he often does when trying to gently tell me no; he scoffed and said, "No, you're not," with a gentle smile. Who knows now. My heart still burns for it and I'm still working all I can to save up enough money so I can afford to take 4 weeks off to sail around America.
Which leads me to my next topic. Dance and money. The last night we danced at Skewer's, they decided they hated us. Said we were unprofessional. That's how people see us though. "Oh, those are Amira's girls. Aren't they just cute!" Cute and little. Like baby girls. Not a threat to any one else's job, not "good". Just little girls. So how are we going to cure that since I need to pay off my costume, make money, and save up? Do solo gigs. But I have to get better first. So I'm biting the bullet, dropping the last 5 or 10 pounds I need to, getting in shape, and.....eating vegetables! There I said it....phew...So in order to work out, I'll dance. Have to wake up in the morning to do my crunches and eat right. Not so hard. Should have been doing this all along but I wasn't serious enough. Guess it took a little poke of rejection first. So, step aside world, I'm getting serious.
Of course I'm making myself studying harder too. I'm doing fine in school but I figure since I'm so serious about this now I'll not let myself dance practice until after I'm done studying. That means French, British stuff, icky history, and poetry. Sounds easy, hu? Well, you try it.
So here I am. Working harder. Again. But actually trying this time around. Maybe now I'll have something to write about. Like that pit in my stomach that is screaming for Cheetos right now. I already ate Cheereos, an apple, had some Emergen-C (lots of sick siblings) and am about to go eat a banana for a snack. Stop being hungry! Eh, either way... :)

Chapter 41: Some French Cuisine!

Here is just an example of the lame little essays I've been writing in French class. Yes, the grammar is APPALLING! But not a lot of Americans are going to know that. ^_^ I've only been speaking French for a semester, but there are huge leaps in these papers. And let's not forget that I'm only a B- student in this class. The first paper is written only in present tense as it was all I knew a few months ago. The past imperfect and the past tense in French are difficult but I'm really getting it. Better than anyone else in the class actually. I thinking a writer helped with that a lot. I can just tell when to use which. It's cool. So here is the first one!

Chaque Jour

Ma vie sur mardi et jeudi est très occupé. Dans le matin je réveille á six heures. Je s’habiller rapidement afin je peux manger. Suivant, je vais á l’école. Mais premier, j’ai besoin de prendre le bus entre mon maison et le bus stop. Puis je prends deux bus á l’école et j’arrive á l’école á huit heures. Maintenant j’ai dois marcher á classe. C’est un promenade très loin.

Á huit heures et demi je arriver mon premier classe! Je prends psychologie de première et essayer ne dormir pas! Mon professeur est très ennuyeux…mais j’ai une bonne note! Pas un cent pourcent mais bon assez. Le class est terminée á dix heures. 

Ensuit je fais ma classe prochaine á dix heures. Cette classe est science politiques. Je n’ai pas une bonne note en cette classe. Pas mal, mais pas bon. Cette classe est terminée á onze heures et demi. Ma troisième classe est á géologie á onze heures et demi. J’aime la géologie! Je aime á apprendre de le terre. Cette est ma deuxième classe de géologie. Á une heure dans le midi, je mange mon déjeuner dans le même temps je course á ma classe dernière : français!

Finalement, classes sont terminée et c’est temps de monter dans les bus encore. Mais! Ma journée n’est pas fini. J’ai travaillé et devoirs. Normalement, je suis á ma maison et dormir á onze heures et demi du soir. Puis je réveille á six heures du matin fois!             

And the second one from today!

Une Petite Princesse

Quand j’étais petite, mes frères a dit que j’étais une princesse parce que j’étais la seule fille pour un temps. J’ai aimé jouée avec les poupées beaucoup. J’ai acheté chaque poupées j’ai vu. Les poupées je préférais étais American Girl Dolls, mais j’avais autre poupées trop. Quand j’étais jouée avec mes poupées, mes frères moquaient moi et de les prends ! Mes frères les cachaient et je les besoin á trouvais. Puis, ma mère a dit, « Donnez votre sœur des poupées ! » et mes frères leur a donné á moi. Mais, j’aime mes frères.

Mes frères pensaient j’étais une princesse parce que j’avais ma propre chambre quand j’étais né. Le chambre été peinte violet et nouveau tapis été installé. Quand j’étais trois ans, je dis à ma mère, « J’envie des rideaux blancs, » et, voilà, j’ai eu des nouveaux rideaux !

Soudain, la prochain chose je sais, je ne suis pas la princesse! Une autre petite fille était dans ma chambre et elle est la princesse. Oh, non! Après cet,  je dois acheter quelque chose j’envie. J’ai appris á économiser mon argent á une jeune âge.

Apres cet, j’ai appris á faire des corvées et a pris soin de mon plus jeune sœurs et frères. Parfois, j’ai dit, « Je ne suis pas votre serviteur! » parce que j’étais un petite enfant et je ne savais pas á être une bon fille. Maintenant, je sais mieux. J’envie être une bon exemple pour ma jeunes plus sœurs et frères.          

                                                

Chapter 40: Don't Be Insecure, Girl!

This post is going to be more like word vomit than a neat post (as if I've done any of those, who am I kidding?) so be forgiving.
Last night, my mother decided it was high time to give me an hour an a half long lecture. You  see, my mum has always done this: never corrects the situation when it's in the moment, she waits for things to pile up inside of her and then lets  you have it when she can't hold any more and you get her emotional guts spewed all over you.
I was blown away by things she said and I have done nothing but think over what she said. I have honestly pondered the things she said and evaluated myself with out bias. The thoughts I am going to write out are just that, thoughts. Not answers. Not my replies. So, let's look at the allegations brought against me, but first, how it happened.
Yesterday started out fine. Good even. But the poem I turned in for class is still very wanting...In the morning as I was packing up for school, I felt The Twinge. The one I get when God's trying to tell me something. Something little that I need to do for the day. It was this: take what's left of your dance tip. Take the cash. But I say, "No, I'll just end up spending it on junk food." Thinking I am doing good, I leave the wad of ones in my room and head to school.
As I got up to leave my poetry class, my UH I.D. and Metro Q-Card fell out of my back pocket. I have them there cause I use the I.D. to get into the Language Lab, which I study in after poetry class every day, and my Metro card because I take so many buses to and from school. I've always had these cards in my back pocket. I get to the bathroom and realize it's missing, run back to the class only to have someone tell me that someone from my class picked it up. I text my mum knowing she may have to come and pick me up then head to the Lab to use the computer and send out an SOS over emails and facebook stalk my class mates to try to get it back. Halfway through French class and no replies. Mum has to pick me up.
This infuriates  her to no end. She sends me a text telling me to think of others lives and how I interrupt them when I screw up. I understand and I'm sorry.
The ride home is silent and just before I leave to teach, mum tells me she's going to have a talk with me and "you're not going to like it." I leave teaching early to have the talk that night rather than wait until today.
Now, to address what was said.
Apparently, I lost my cards because I'm not "conforming" and using a wallet. I don't carry a wallet cause I have 2 (3 now because of the Metro card) cards. They would fall out of a wallet because they wouldn't be snug with a million other cards. Also, the wallets these days are HUGE. At least 7" lone and 4" wide. That's insane. To please my mother, I will look into a wallet. A cheap one that I can afford. If it bothered her, why didn't she say so earlier or just get me one? A cheap one from somewhere so she doesn't have to suffer for it. No, she'd rather wait to burst as I mentioned.
So..."conforming" is the problem, I see. From here, the tirade is launched. I'm a rebel. I try too hard to stand out and now I'm out of control.
Really...? We're gunna talk about my clothes now? Yes. Apparently I wear black because...wait for it....I'm insecure. I know this may be true for some people. People say guys with loud motorcycles are compensating. Insecurity. But me? No. I thought over this long and hard last night. I wear black because (God forbid!) I like it. Why do people wear the clothes they wear? Maybe they like them? No, that can't be the reason!
Next, I'm insecure and think I'm fat, stupid, and ugly. Uh....no. I quite like my hot body, thanks. I WORK HARD to stay in shape, eat healthy and be active. And I like how my body looks now. Yes, I am a bit more poofy than what is considered desirable today, but I do not have a problem with that. I have a nice stomach, firm legs and great assets. To put it nicely.
Do I think I'm ugly. Maybe when I was 16 and didn't know how to handle my long, frizzy hair. Now, I quite like my dark eyes, long, elegant hair, and tan skin. I'm rather exotic looking. I know how to make myself up to enhance that too.
Do I think I'm stupid? No, I just think I struggle with Science, Math , and French, which is evident in my Cs and Bs in the subjects. And I do beat myself up about it. I won't deny that. I only do that though because dad only wants A-student kids. And I let him down. Even though I do extra homework, go in for tutoring and work hard, I'm still just  a C and B. In reality, I'm happy with that. I wish I could do better, but I need to devote time to the things I'm good at too. I hate getting Cs and Bs mostly. I'm not stupid. I'm rather clever actually. I'm a kick-booty writer when I have a goal (this blog is not a showcase, get over it), I'm super creative, I have a massive imagination...I'm pretty smart. I really am.
But no. Mum insists that I'm insecure and hate myself and that's why I dress in black. No....that doesn't even make sense. I like Edgar Allen Poe, Tim Burton, Shakespeare, and other things considered dark, strange, and unusual. That's just the way I am. Why do you like designer/name-brand clothes, have 50 purses, 60 pairs of shoes? I don't think I'm the one who's insecure.
I won't hide everything and say I am without sin. I know I get over emotional sometimes, I know I have a hard time learning and get too upset about it (would you be pleased if I just shrugged it off? You wouldn't think me lazy?) but I have made great strides recently. I used to not have this self-respect you deny me having and what was said last night really brought it down.
I saw that you hate me. You don't like me. You don't like who I am. You don't appreciate the work I have put in to growing up. Because you don't see it. You won't get to know me and see me. I was kind of given up on when I was 16. That's when mum stopped raising me and expected me to be perfect all on my own. Trust me, I'm going to try.
So here's my plan. Mum gave me a choice: (basically)stop wearing black, drop belly dance (I'm not even going to go there in this post), and then I can be back in her good graces. Mum, do you know that I'm a good, Godly girl? You can only say things "you're insecure" because you don't know me. You don't know that I try (and, yes, fail but we all do) and work hard and keep trying. My room and car and ferret get cleaned out on a regular basis (I am sad to say that this took me a long time to manage because my schedules have been ever changing and crazy), I keep my body clean, neat and exercised, I study, do homework and am bringing up my grades. I pray, go to church, read my bible, study with other Christian-written books, don't swear, don't drink, don't smoke, don't do drugs, don't stay out late (past midnight usually) every other day...I mean, honestly (and I am open to suggestions!) what more do you want? I drive kids around on my gas money, run errands for you, do house chores when I'm here and one of the other kids are gone.
So, what's my plan? Do more. Show you respect (ESPECIALLY when your on my last nerve). Be cleaner. Study harder. I have to be as close to perfect as I possibly can. Why? Because I love the dance and I won't drop it. I make good money with it. Second, because there is nothing wrong with me wearing black just like there is nothing wrong with you wearing pink and brown (though, in all humor, that is bordering on a sin!). Mum is attacking the wrong things in me. I'm not insecure, I'm just growing up on my own because she won't be part of my life until she gets scared of me.
I want her to be part of my life. Nothing sucks more than a mother who is afraid of you. I think she'd like me if she knew me. A bit any way.

Chapter 39: Allegory for Life

When I'm rollerblading, I can feel every slight incline of the road, every crack and niche. Sometimes I ignore them and just keep going. There are so many I don't need to count every last one of them. They're only small. Not like they're tripping me or snagging my wheels so I fall and skin myself.
I love the four miles I speed around my neighborhood. I used to do it every day but time ran out and soon I didn't do it at all. Today, I decided to bite the bullet and take the time to race my shadow around the four miles as fast as I could and ignore the seething in my legs and lungs as the icy wind sliced through me. As a smile broke my face I remembered the allegories to life I always drew while blading.
I only went rollerblading when I wanted to. The day would be pleasant, I'd have the time and the energy to have fun. The route started out fine with gentle, long strides, and nice wind. About a mile into the gliding, I'd start to breath heavier. The small hills approached and some larger cracks appear. Ignoring them as I always do, a large one ducks under my blades and I trip, my feet and arms flailing to regain my balance. Watch where you're going, my nerves shout at me. It was just a small crack, but just tall enough to nearly knock me off my feet.
Then the bigger hills come. I trudge up one and glide down the other side only to trudge up the next one. Floating down the hills is relaxing and nice but the work to get there is hard. Then I realize something. If going down the hill is so easy, why not kick harder down the hill so the momentum will carry me up more easily? So I try it and the result is brilliant. When it seems easy, work harder and when it is difficult things will be easier.
Simple revelations go a long way in life. I'm working hard to overcome some rather large faults I have that are dragging me down. I have to have the eyes of a hawk to find happiness in daily life, but finding it is the only way I can live through each day. Little thoughts like his keep me going. Taking pleasure in the simple things is how I get by. My hope is that I can fix myself and then help others do the same for themselves. But first, I must light a candle in my own bleak eyes.