As of Now

You want to know who I am? I change everyday, and even if all you want is a snapshot of who I am at this moment in time, this nondescript second on a Monday night when I’m fifteen and lonely, I cannot give it to you. If I tell you I am a painter, you will never know about the surges of altruism and passion that overwhelm me, that strike me weak in the knees and leave me feeling pitifully helpless. I can rant about my individuality and tell how dying my hair purple made me unique, but then I’ll just blend in with the rest of the crowd that clamors to escape the oppressive normality which they are in fact, through their opposition, creating. I could say I’m an athlete, but then you would think I am probably not smart, or tell you I am on honor roll, but wouldn’t that contradict? I am paradoxical and confusing, so no matter what I tell you, you will not listen, or it might not penetrate. But even if you think you know me, do not compromise me into a standard, a category, a generalization, or what truly I am will not matter any longer. Yet here before you I present a painting of myself, one so watered down by the incompetence of words and categories that I look like any other teenage girl.

I am an adolescent, sensitive and ambivalent, trying to gain control of the emotional confusion inside of me. I love the freedom of being young, but wait in joyful anticipation for the life that I am yet to lead. I am impressionable and vulnerable, yet adamant about my plethora of opinions. Be careful with me, I may seem strong, but occasionally I fall. Sometimes I’m afraid of you, and sometimes afraid of myself.

I am a poet, faced with the constant struggle of articulation. I try to make my words express the story of how I feel, and when I can tell that story, I am powerful for a moment. I write for me, yet I censor myself. I have so much inside me that oftentimes, no matter how hard I try, I’m left speechless, my paper blank. No matter how genuine my words are, they come out as drippy clichés. But sometimes I bubble over with beautiful words, so many so fast that I can’t touch them all, even with copper pots beneath me to catch the drops that spill over.

I am a dreamer, passing my idle hours in wonderlands far away. I need an escape sometimes, from the horrible pressures of the world that spins too fast and looks too real. And so I idealize my goals, my future, my love, my life. Maybe I should not dream as I do, but it tastes so soft and feels so sweet. Have you ever dreamt so passionately that you woke up crying?

I am an artist, creative and expressive, in an effort to make my art look like me, like my feelings. I am in control, my art is what I want it to be. It is my outlet and electrical socket, through it I release frustration and pain, and I draw in a sense of accomplishment and confidence from seeing what I’m capable of.

I am a thinker, pondering the greater mysteries of the universe, and the equally complex issues of what it is to be a teenage girl. I wonder why I am alive, whether God exists, how love works. I hypothesize about what it would be like to live a different life, and whether or not I am the good person that I strive to be. Although I know nothing of molecular dynamics, I never stop wondering. I think so much I get dizzy, and sometimes I am swept off by the tides of dark confusion and blown away by the wind that isn’t there.

I am an athlete, pushing myself to my limits. I do my best physically, achieving my goals, working for myself and for the team. I carry my lessons from the field into my life, lessons of teamwork and tenacity. I don’t always win, but I can try. One of my greatest satisfactions is the painful exhaustion of a game well played.

I am a student and scholar, anxious but naive, trying to learn whatever I can and use it to the best of my abilities. I’ve been born with an aptitude for certain areas, and when I am devoted, I excel. I try to do my best, and hate when people put me down for that, denigrating my abilities. People can sneer at me or call me “nerd,” but still I forgive them. It hurts, but it is okay.

I am a journalist, gathering information and trying to form opinions in an ever-changing world. I want to hear it all, see it all, know it all and then do something with it. But I lose sight of what is going on, get distracted, fall behind. I am always wanting.

I am a spectator, watching and anticipating, loving and appreciating the world around me. I do not always need to be active, my satisfaction can be derived from watching. Competing and participating is fatiguing, and sometimes I need a break from all the madness. I long for a chance to look clearly at the blur that surrounds me in movement, to see for myself what is going on.

I am a friend, here for you always. I will listen, it is one of the things I do best. Trust me with your secrets, come to me with your fears, depend on me, unconditionally. Leave your inhibitions as you remember I like you for your virtues, but I love you for your faults. Stand strong next to me, and we can face the world together.

I am a girl, feminine and beautiful, strong and insightful, establishing the role of the female in a patriarchal society. I stand up for what I believe in, not just the political catch phrases posted around the world. I am not trying to make a show of my sex, and I am not out to prove superiority, just asking for equality. I’ll listen to you, whatever you wish to tell me. Will you value my opinions please?

I am a collector, gathering sacred ideas in close to me, and never letting go. It is not Magic Cards or Beanie babies that form my menagerie, but experiences and life. I have seen fantastic friendships die, I have quivered at words of hate, seen others shrink at my idiotic remarks, and cursed myself for being just human. I have cherished lost friendships for the experiences therein, grown strong and resilient to aspersions, made mistakes and learned from them, and loved being human. My collection has only just begun.

But above all, I am a person, like everyone else. But maybe I am unique. I derive my pleasure from the little things, like a rainy day. And sometimes I’m unsure of who I am. Perhaps I’ll never know.