Feb 1st 2016

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic

Some thoughts from just a moment ago

Feb 1st 2016


Anyone who’s good at anything has to start somewhere.


They may not have been amazing at first but they never let that slow them down. They weren’t great but they were passionate, they weren’t afraid to take that step, weren’t afraid to say they might not be good but even so they’d continue striving to be better.


I always say the hardest part of finding your passions is in that initial search for them. Its important to know that as we grow and mature, so do the things we enjoy.


If I’ve liked something for a long time I can still say I like it but maybe that’s because I consider it as something that defines me; maybe I don’t really like it as much as I used to so its different now; it just doesn’t make me feel the same way it used to.


I know there’s something out there that I can now come to love more. I just don’t know what it may be yet.


So I have to be brave and unafraid, I have to be able to put myself out there and take that first step of searching for something new.


I know I might find some things I don’t like or some things I really like but happen to be bad at. And when I find these things, I’m not going to put myself down over not having the same level of experience or high amount of practice that someone would have if they’ve been doing it for longer. I know it will be a long journey if I want to get better at whatever I’ve chosen, and I cant let myself be scared of messing up in the process. Like all people, I have passion and the will to make it work.


I will embrace finding new interests so that I might be able to grow as a person. So what if I look silly or suck at first, I’m still not going to let others opinions hold me back; Ill strive to always throw all my effort into what I’m doing regardless. That way I know I’ll be happy with myself once I can stop to say I’ve accomplished something, even if to others, that something doesn’t seem like very much. It will be enough for me.


The light of the afternoon sun stretches across my room as I write this, illuminating my hair, which is stiff, and covered in lemon juice. My effort to lighten it from the sunlight depraved dark blonde colour that is the effect Canadian winters have on it.


A cloud drifts through the sky shielding the sun from me, and I wonder when ill next be able to feel the warm summer breeze on my bare skin. I think about warm sandy beaches and think about the sweet feeling of being somewhere I belong. My heart aches. I wish to be a young again; no, I wish that things had turned out differently for me. That right now I would know what I want of my future, would have spoken to my unrequited love while I had the chance. I wish to be again living out that wonderful first semester of grade 11, that which what must have been the happiest yet saddest times in my life.


I’m a child of sunshine and warmth; I live for happiness and talking to good friends, for silly antics and not having to be afraid of my future. Yet each day I feel dreadfully sad and alone, I don’t regularly talk to my closest friends who seem very much distant most times. I sit alone in my darkening room wondering when I will laugh wholeheartedly with them again.


When will I really be able to talk face to face with them next? Should I text first? Should I try and talk to them the next day after or wait until they contact me back?


It’s a train of thought that I know can only lead one place; to a night where I huddle alone into my pillow, crying until I drift off into sleep.


I’m glad that such nights come far and few in between now, what with the new medications I’m on. Nowadays, I barely feel my depression if at all; I feel as though I am able to pick up the pieces of my self and begin putting them back together again-


No it’s more like I don’t need those pieces anymore, I’ve become a different person now and I don’t want to go back to those scattered broken fragments.


I’m ready to grow as this new individual.


In this moment I’m sitting in an old squeaky black computer chair typing on an old banged up laptop perched on an equally old banged up desk, that which was never meant for the wear and tear of my artistic pursuits, and I think, I feel good.


I think about who I am and what I want to be as I look out my window at a pale fading golden sky. I feel content, I think that I’ll maybe text an old friend and see what he’s up to.

Submitted: February 01, 2016

© Copyright 2020 Neroorfar. All rights reserved.

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