I came across this a couple of days ago in my drafts and felt the need to share it with you all. Enjoy.
I’ve just had the sudden urge to write. Not necessarily to write by hand, like I do in my beautiful journal, but rather type out on a computer, sitting comfortable on a couch–cross legged and relaxed–drinking some kind of drink. I get like that, I suppose. I get excited when I think about the sound of the keys on a keyboard clicking away as my fingers move gracefully across the world in which are the seventy eight keys of my keyboard. I get turned on. Kinda. I like visualizing myself typing away, obsessed with whatever is appearing on the screen in front of me.
And that’s why I’m here. Gundaroo, New South Wales, Australia. Ten fifty-one at night, waiting to stay up until one in the morning in order to register for college classes in my time zone, eastern standard time. I’m not even on my own computer, I’m on my aunt’s.
Sitting crossed legged, like I said, and drinking cold water to help keep me awake (and alive), I have a strong desire to put down my books (for fear of relaxing to the point of sleep) and ignore my constantly buzzing phone. Who the hell needs to talk to me at this time of day anyway?
I really just got back to the house an hour ago. Tonight is my last night in Gundaroo. Tomorrow Auntie Em and I drive up to Sydney and spend a night there before I fly out to return back to North Carolina. She, Aunt Heidi, and myself went to an amazing restaurant here in The Village tonight to commemorate my time spent here and I realized something.
I have grown up so much. So much from the times when my aunts would travel to the States and visit when I was still little and blonde. So much from the times when I was six and had the world cupped in the small palm of my innocent hand. So much.
Here I am, eighteen years old, four tattoos in, one nose ring down, sex advocate, feminist, and no longer blonde.
Sometimes I wonder what the fuck happened and then I recall all the events that have happened in this short span of my life that have impacted me so much that they have molded me into who I am today. Cliche statement, I know, but imagine this:
When you are born, you are just a lump of brown clay. Boring, right? You’re not just any ordinary lump of brown clay, though, you’re a soft lump of brown clay. A soft lump that, even when slightly nudged, will take a different shape than from the moment before. And let’s say, for each year that you age, you’re baked just a little bit more in the oven that is our world. So you become harder, less vulnerable, more cracked with age, but you also begin to change into a deeper shade of brown than before. And once completely baked, you can no longer be fucked with, because you’re dead.
That’s us. And that’s me. But we’re also different from a brown blob of clay. We do, in fact, harden with time, wrinkle as we’re older, and are easily influenced when we’re younger, but there is an obvious difference between us (human beings) and an inanimate object (i.e. clay). We have emotions, brain waves, reactions, impulses to the things that happen to us throughout our journey in life. And it is these reactions that truly mold us into the people that we are remembered as once we’re dead and gone.
And I want to be remembered as something great.
Photo Courtesy of: Mia Renee Cole