I remember thinking.
“I cannot be anything, other than what I am.”
And I remember wandering.
“If that is my limitation, how do I move past this? You cannot see me as I do, and I cannot bend at your will. So where do we go from here? How am I to relate to you? And if you do not accept me, then why even vex me with your conclusions on who you think I am? Why not cast only disregard in my direction? Is my irrelevant presence worth your indispensable time?”
I did not understand the rules of the teen societal game I was being forced to play. I wasn’t even part of the game, and still I had to play by their rules.
I remember time and time again these same questions scrolling through my mind like clockwork.
I was a young girl then. The young girl with her hair in pigtails, and big dreams in her eyes. The kind of girl that wanted to believe in the transparency of the world around her, while disregarding the darkness that shadowed her.
I remember thinking to myself as I walked long corridors to open doored classrooms… “That the only thing open about these rooms are in fact the doors.”
Half present, and half vulnerable to my abstract interpretation of the world, I sat at my desk daydreaming.
I was surrounded by subjects that never wore faces to me. I gave up on observing them as people, when they gave up on observing me as a fellow peer.
I created a world more accepting than the world had ever been to me at that time.
My peers did not understand me, and my seniors felt sympathy for me. Sympathy is not what a young girl wants.
Inspiration, tolerance, approval, and desire…..those are things that a young girl wants.
Stares, aversion, cruelty, and misunderstanding ….these most assuredly are not what they want.
“If I am discarded by the people that have crafted me, and more so by the people that are meant to be relatable to me….. why am I even here? Why am I trying to push into a world that does not openly invite me in? It is exhausting trying to find approval among antagonists. Surely this is not what the world had intended when it woke me up upon liberation.”
Today, I stand in the middle of streets, and under trees littered across green acres of park terraces asking myself a different variety of questions.
“Why did I seek your acceptance, why did I seek any of their acceptance? Acceptance is but subjective. Most times it is not rational, it is self-regarding and linear.”
I realize now that that young girl that was looking for acceptance was looking for it in a space of misguidance. Peer among peer acceptance is somewhat ironic, don’t you think?
At a time when no one feels accepted, but everyone needs to be so …how can one be so sure of obtaining the one true craving?