kat_meditating
01-25-2005, 04:09 PM
Hey guys I am back! Alright, well I started writting this a little before Christmas and I just now finished the chapter. This is probably going to be one of those on-going things. I will probably post a chapter every month. Alot of things I write here, will be current stories, so ya know one has to wait for them to happen! lol. I am speaking from my heart here, so if something I say indirectly offends you, well...get over it. Happy reading!
Hello: My life put into a Tale
Chapter I: Stereotypes
Hello. I have a story to tell. It is my story: the story of the events of my life. At least the one’s I can remember. Or the one’s I want to share. So will you work with me for a while? I mean, surely it can’t be much to you because all you are doing is reading the fine print of this page. I, on the other hand, had to reach into the deep corners of my mind, struggle to find my memories, and write them down. Not easy: especially when you are fifteen years old. Oh, I know what you’re thinking…what a wonderful life I have, right? Well I hate to disappoint you, but it’s not. No I have not suffered anything drastic or horrible. I am not an orphan. I have never been molested or beaten. As far as finances go, our family is slightly above average. I am a rather pretty girl, or so I have been told frequently. As a freshman in High School I have the pick of boys right at my fingertips. Guess what else I am? A Christian very dedicated to the faith. “Well my gosh,” your thinking, “She really does have a good life!” Hmm…now that I think about it…on paper it really does look good! Yes I will agree that I do have a good life, but because I am fifteen years old I run into a lot of obstacles and dramas in everyday life. So, of course I am not always happy. Well, no one is always happy. And why exactly is this? Shouldn’t people always be happy? No I suppose not. Not as long as there are people in the world who seem to try their best to make us unhappy. However, it is the little everyday things given off by other people that make me unhappy.
And on this subject I suppose I should have you try to imagine the picture I am going to paint for you. Alright, here it is. Picture living in a small town: not miniscule, but don’t imagine Atlanta or New York City. You are at the mall. Say about a week before Christmas when at least half of the United States does it’s last minute, or maybe even it’s first time, shopping for others. A lot of people will be at stores. A lot of people you haven’t seen before and probably will never see again. So you are just exiting a major department store and entering in to the center of the mall. Many different people pass you; a young couple, an older lady, a middle aged man talking on his cell phone, a group of laughing girls dressed in denim and pink with milk shakes in their hands. And after them is another girl. She is with some girls too, but this group is not like the one before them. She has long dark hair with bright colors streaked through it. She and her friends are dressed in black with silver accents everywhere: on their cloths, and on their body. They contain dark eyeliner on the rims of their inner and outer eyelid. These are the things you notice first. You don’t notice the smiles on their faces or their brisk pace. Or if you do you automatically think they are out to do some harm such as steal something or slash some kids throat with the dagger one is showing the other. She is saying she just bought it and she will hang it somewhere in her room. You think to yourself that it will soon be used on whoever dares to oppose her. They must be going to the store you just passed that has shelves and shelves of books on the practices of Wicca. You don’t notice the laughing group head into the local Christian bookstore. No, you go your way with only a thought as to what in the world is happening to the teenagers today.
Stereotypes: aren’t they fun? Or maybe they are only amusing when one is not given to you. For that girl in the mall was I. And at the same moment you saw me, I saw you. I saw you as a thirty-year-old woman with an obviously fake tan and blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. You had on very tight jeans and a low cut shirt. I could think to myself that you are just another smoking, red neck, Britney Spears want to be. Just as you could think to yourself that I am just another pill popping, wrist cutting, rebellious teenager. Did you think those things about me in those two or three seconds it took to pass by me, and did I think those things about you? I will never know what your thoughts were. But I can tell you mine and unfortunately I might have not thought very highly of you, even though I know that it was wrong. Labels only go as far as their name. A label is not a person. A label cannot hold a person to itself for people are so much bigger than the title they have been given based on what they look like.
Now the scenery changes and it is my High School. The time is about eight forty five in the morning. First period has just started and I am sitting in my desk. Guess what this class is. Health. Yes: one of my few easy classes. I am sitting there at my desk second from the front. I shiver because it is winter and this classroom happens to be in a trailer outside our school. Fun, huh? Yes every morning I trudge outside in nineteen-degree weather to that little musty classroom with my friend. I walk in and pretty much drop my stuff as I climb onto a cold chair. I shiver for the next five minutes straight. After I get some heat back into my body I usually strike up a conversation with my friend Kayli. And after a few minutes we are usually roaring with laughter either about something really funny and ironic that happened to one of us over the weekend, or about a very ugly picture of one of us. Before long a very annoying sound will greet our ears. Screaming voices from the back of the room directed towards us. “Shut up you Prep!” Kayli and I just look at each other and wonder what the crap that is supposed to mean. I retort by glaring at them as they continue to diss me. Then Kayli gets mad and starts to mumble under her breathe about white trash people. I just look back at her and start laughing. I tell her that she is really mean, it’s just no one ever hears her except me, and sometimes a blonde named Catherine who laughs with us. I also tell Kayli she needs to start speaking louder. Maybe then they would leave us alone. Then the guy in front of me named Fernando turns around arches an eyebrow and greets me with, “Hey creepy. Don’t columbine us today.”
Which at this point Kayli, Catherine, and I all laugh, but on the inside I am still a little bit hurt. Is it just my outfit that makes this guy afraid of me? Or is it something I am doing? Do I act all scary and intimidating? I know he put that little phrase into a joke, but part of him isn’t joking. Sometimes that worries me. Just a little. And yet, just a few minutes earlier I was called a prep. Come to think of it- what exactly is a prep? Kayli decided to ask Fernando that question. She asked if being a prep just basically meant white people who don’t smoke pot. He laughed and replied that that was basically it. She looked at me and said, “That is really stupid.”
Ok skip through a couple of hours of school. It is about 11:45 and I have just finished eating lunch. As I head up the stairs to my next class I am usually still chomping down on a muffin. Actually that is a lie. Although I do love muffins, even the lunchroom kind, I always get done eating way before the bell to fourth period. Anyways…I walk in the door of my Physical Science class. A hot-shot tenth grade football player named Preston, nods his head in my direction and plasters a smile on his face: I simply role my eyes. I know he doesn’t like me, so why does he pretend to? Usually about halfway through class he, his cousin, or one of his two ridiculous friends, will call my friend Shea to their table in the back. Basically their main reason for doing this is to look down her shirt. After a few minutes they will call me back. I already know what Preston is going to ask me. However I still shuffle back there. Preston gets close to me, and starts talking really softly. He always asks the same question. “So how far did you and your boyfriend go?” I always scream at him that we didn’t do anything, while he just looks at me with disbelief. “I bet you guys will get back together.” Then his cousin, Zack will say, “Was he the guy who wrote you the note in blood? My god, that is disgusting.” At this point I just give Zack a glare and a growl, meaning that I don’t want to talk about that incident. Then I turn to Preston and reply with, “We are NEVER going to get back together.” Preston laughs and looks me straight in the eye. “I bet you guys were a really kinky couple.” He sees the horror on my face and he starts telling me to calm down. “I am not saying you two were, it’s just that with all these spikes and chains you wear on your wrists, I figured you were doing something dirty with them.” All four of the sophomores then burst into laughter as I head back to my desk, completely humiliated and at a loss for words. Then again- how does one talk to The Peanut Gallery?
Ok review if you want, if you don't that is ok too. I know alot of you have busy lives.
Hello: My life put into a Tale
Chapter I: Stereotypes
Hello. I have a story to tell. It is my story: the story of the events of my life. At least the one’s I can remember. Or the one’s I want to share. So will you work with me for a while? I mean, surely it can’t be much to you because all you are doing is reading the fine print of this page. I, on the other hand, had to reach into the deep corners of my mind, struggle to find my memories, and write them down. Not easy: especially when you are fifteen years old. Oh, I know what you’re thinking…what a wonderful life I have, right? Well I hate to disappoint you, but it’s not. No I have not suffered anything drastic or horrible. I am not an orphan. I have never been molested or beaten. As far as finances go, our family is slightly above average. I am a rather pretty girl, or so I have been told frequently. As a freshman in High School I have the pick of boys right at my fingertips. Guess what else I am? A Christian very dedicated to the faith. “Well my gosh,” your thinking, “She really does have a good life!” Hmm…now that I think about it…on paper it really does look good! Yes I will agree that I do have a good life, but because I am fifteen years old I run into a lot of obstacles and dramas in everyday life. So, of course I am not always happy. Well, no one is always happy. And why exactly is this? Shouldn’t people always be happy? No I suppose not. Not as long as there are people in the world who seem to try their best to make us unhappy. However, it is the little everyday things given off by other people that make me unhappy.
And on this subject I suppose I should have you try to imagine the picture I am going to paint for you. Alright, here it is. Picture living in a small town: not miniscule, but don’t imagine Atlanta or New York City. You are at the mall. Say about a week before Christmas when at least half of the United States does it’s last minute, or maybe even it’s first time, shopping for others. A lot of people will be at stores. A lot of people you haven’t seen before and probably will never see again. So you are just exiting a major department store and entering in to the center of the mall. Many different people pass you; a young couple, an older lady, a middle aged man talking on his cell phone, a group of laughing girls dressed in denim and pink with milk shakes in their hands. And after them is another girl. She is with some girls too, but this group is not like the one before them. She has long dark hair with bright colors streaked through it. She and her friends are dressed in black with silver accents everywhere: on their cloths, and on their body. They contain dark eyeliner on the rims of their inner and outer eyelid. These are the things you notice first. You don’t notice the smiles on their faces or their brisk pace. Or if you do you automatically think they are out to do some harm such as steal something or slash some kids throat with the dagger one is showing the other. She is saying she just bought it and she will hang it somewhere in her room. You think to yourself that it will soon be used on whoever dares to oppose her. They must be going to the store you just passed that has shelves and shelves of books on the practices of Wicca. You don’t notice the laughing group head into the local Christian bookstore. No, you go your way with only a thought as to what in the world is happening to the teenagers today.
Stereotypes: aren’t they fun? Or maybe they are only amusing when one is not given to you. For that girl in the mall was I. And at the same moment you saw me, I saw you. I saw you as a thirty-year-old woman with an obviously fake tan and blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. You had on very tight jeans and a low cut shirt. I could think to myself that you are just another smoking, red neck, Britney Spears want to be. Just as you could think to yourself that I am just another pill popping, wrist cutting, rebellious teenager. Did you think those things about me in those two or three seconds it took to pass by me, and did I think those things about you? I will never know what your thoughts were. But I can tell you mine and unfortunately I might have not thought very highly of you, even though I know that it was wrong. Labels only go as far as their name. A label is not a person. A label cannot hold a person to itself for people are so much bigger than the title they have been given based on what they look like.
Now the scenery changes and it is my High School. The time is about eight forty five in the morning. First period has just started and I am sitting in my desk. Guess what this class is. Health. Yes: one of my few easy classes. I am sitting there at my desk second from the front. I shiver because it is winter and this classroom happens to be in a trailer outside our school. Fun, huh? Yes every morning I trudge outside in nineteen-degree weather to that little musty classroom with my friend. I walk in and pretty much drop my stuff as I climb onto a cold chair. I shiver for the next five minutes straight. After I get some heat back into my body I usually strike up a conversation with my friend Kayli. And after a few minutes we are usually roaring with laughter either about something really funny and ironic that happened to one of us over the weekend, or about a very ugly picture of one of us. Before long a very annoying sound will greet our ears. Screaming voices from the back of the room directed towards us. “Shut up you Prep!” Kayli and I just look at each other and wonder what the crap that is supposed to mean. I retort by glaring at them as they continue to diss me. Then Kayli gets mad and starts to mumble under her breathe about white trash people. I just look back at her and start laughing. I tell her that she is really mean, it’s just no one ever hears her except me, and sometimes a blonde named Catherine who laughs with us. I also tell Kayli she needs to start speaking louder. Maybe then they would leave us alone. Then the guy in front of me named Fernando turns around arches an eyebrow and greets me with, “Hey creepy. Don’t columbine us today.”
Which at this point Kayli, Catherine, and I all laugh, but on the inside I am still a little bit hurt. Is it just my outfit that makes this guy afraid of me? Or is it something I am doing? Do I act all scary and intimidating? I know he put that little phrase into a joke, but part of him isn’t joking. Sometimes that worries me. Just a little. And yet, just a few minutes earlier I was called a prep. Come to think of it- what exactly is a prep? Kayli decided to ask Fernando that question. She asked if being a prep just basically meant white people who don’t smoke pot. He laughed and replied that that was basically it. She looked at me and said, “That is really stupid.”
Ok skip through a couple of hours of school. It is about 11:45 and I have just finished eating lunch. As I head up the stairs to my next class I am usually still chomping down on a muffin. Actually that is a lie. Although I do love muffins, even the lunchroom kind, I always get done eating way before the bell to fourth period. Anyways…I walk in the door of my Physical Science class. A hot-shot tenth grade football player named Preston, nods his head in my direction and plasters a smile on his face: I simply role my eyes. I know he doesn’t like me, so why does he pretend to? Usually about halfway through class he, his cousin, or one of his two ridiculous friends, will call my friend Shea to their table in the back. Basically their main reason for doing this is to look down her shirt. After a few minutes they will call me back. I already know what Preston is going to ask me. However I still shuffle back there. Preston gets close to me, and starts talking really softly. He always asks the same question. “So how far did you and your boyfriend go?” I always scream at him that we didn’t do anything, while he just looks at me with disbelief. “I bet you guys will get back together.” Then his cousin, Zack will say, “Was he the guy who wrote you the note in blood? My god, that is disgusting.” At this point I just give Zack a glare and a growl, meaning that I don’t want to talk about that incident. Then I turn to Preston and reply with, “We are NEVER going to get back together.” Preston laughs and looks me straight in the eye. “I bet you guys were a really kinky couple.” He sees the horror on my face and he starts telling me to calm down. “I am not saying you two were, it’s just that with all these spikes and chains you wear on your wrists, I figured you were doing something dirty with them.” All four of the sophomores then burst into laughter as I head back to my desk, completely humiliated and at a loss for words. Then again- how does one talk to The Peanut Gallery?
Ok review if you want, if you don't that is ok too. I know alot of you have busy lives.