9 May, 2007, 1044 am
Filed under: My Experience with Existence, School

Here’s something for you to consider:  I never write anything new.  It’s all been said before, thought before, mulled over for a long time, and I am recording everything after it’s already died.  I already know that.  I’m not a trendsetter.  I never catch onto things until they’ve been around forever and are starting to flicker out, and then I realize their novelty.  The bands I listen to–no, I’m not one of the original however many hundred listeners.  I didn’t see their first show, and I was never friends with a member.  I’m one of the people who caught on later.  I never knew the tension building up to their first album or their new EP, or any album or any EP, because they may have stopped making music together.  That doesn’t mean I’m a dispassionate person, or that I’m slow.  I’m intensely passionate about the music I listen to and the clothes I wear, and while love does dawn on me slowly, it’s a gradual but ferocious notion that will be there forever.  So just because I record things posthumously doesn’t mean that what I write isn’t worth reading.  My blog is for those people who bud slowly and gradually.  It’s for people who come to gradual realizations, who like to observe the way people look when they’re reading books, who notice that caterpillar squirming along the sidewalk from the bus window.  My blog isn’t a music blog; it’s a life blog.  Then again, I’m not sure that anyone would consider it a music blog.  If you do, it’s appreciated.

Presently, I’m sixteen and a half, and everyone at my school thinks I’m a boring, polite, and prudish person who only understands grades and never speaks to say otherwise.  I know.  No one talks about me behind my back because I never do anything.  I don’t make public appearances, I don’t talk in class, and I don’t do drugs.  I know teachers are stern on thinking I do, but the students mostly know otherwise.  I am just a boring person.  And I always have these plugs in my ears.  Whether they’re to shut out everyone else or to shut in whatever’s in my head, no one knows but me.  It’s a little of both.  I don’t like the sounds of friendship unless they’re emanating from me and my friends.  Paranoia that other people are laughing at me, yes, but sometimes, it’s accurate.  And then again, some of the people I’ve pinned as most observant never notice me, or if they do, then they’re real stealthy about it.

I’ve taken up the habit of noticing the least visible of people.  There’s a boy in my English class who never talks, never laughs, rarely smiles, and he’s got the pearliest skin ever, and his eyes are hidden by this dark mass of hair and eyebrows.  He slinks through the hallways alone, and I know he must have friends, but I wonder who they are.  He seems quite literate and writes with intensity, but my English teacher doesn’t seem to care.  He doesn’t get even nearly perfect grades, it seems.  He reminds me of the connecting bead between myself and Boo Radley.  The quiet sensibility, I suppose, and the reclusiveness mixed.

There’s a girl in my History class who rarely talks.  She’s pretty, she has loads of friends, but I suppose she doesn’t know anyone and never took the time to make good friends in there.  All class, she stares at her notes on her computer.

In my Chemistry class, there’s a vocal boy, but I’d swear that in French, he must trade places with a silent brother.

Society normally hates these people.  Yes, sometimes people notice them, but they’re annoyed.  It seems everyone in America is annoyed by the reserved, but I’m annoyed by the outgoing.  It’s all about self control, and the most outgoing have no self control.  My transition from middle school to high school was a strange one.  At Moody, we were conditioned to shut up.  At Deep Run, we’re encouraged to talk about ourselves until someone else’s ear falls off.  They tell young intellectuals to practice silence and restraining themselves, but they allow and even force run-of-the-mill teenagers to blabber on.  There’s something wrong with that.

I’m a boring person, though, so I suppose it’s good they nailed my mouth shut at an early age.  The advantages are that I never get yelled at for talking too much, which I equate with lack of self control, and that I never have to flex my nonexistant social skills.  Cool.

If you don’t know me, I’d say that a good person to compare me to is Sophie from Howl’s Moving Castle.  Sophie is plain, and so am I.  I suppose that at the very core of my being, my heart is young.  I have my moments, but most people view me as boring, plain, dull.

Do I care?  No.  Sooner or later, they’ll know otherwise.  It will hit them like an animated frying pan in the head, and they’ll ache with wrongness for a long time after.


1 Comment so far
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howl’s moving castle was a good movie. sophie is cool+pretty+excting+fabulous+amazing, and so are you, except more so.

Comment by divya

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