I have twenty (sunny) days, three books, two races, and one more demon to kill before the start of sophomore year. Am I stoked for school? The simple answer is a yes, and that's only because I can't wait to wear cleats and take my self-worth to new heights with sweaty, smelly mitts. Am I stoked to be with the people in school? The only answer is no, and that's because I learned something the school would never ever think of teaching its students -- the only way for an individual to discover and develop his capabilities to the maximum is to drag him away from his friends and toss him into the ocean, the way authentic fishermen learned to swim.
The way I see it, we are the ones holding each other back. Friends can only get you to an I-guess-this-is-fine distance, and somewhere in the middle of living and dying, one has to figure out that there's more to live for than just the social aspect of life -- there's stuff like childhood dreams, and we can only chase after these by ourselves. We can't have our friends as cavalries. They should have their own dreams to pursue, or they've gone mad. Shame on the majority of people in school, for passing on opportunities fit for them when they realize they can't have their friends along. I want to wear a black panty hose over my head, look like someone I'm not, and shake everyone off this way of thinking. There's just so much life to waste, for Chrissake.
It's all about that where I'm from -- friends, friends, friends. They bring you up. They let you down. They make you cry. They give you hugs. They kiss your butt. They ride with you. They talk trash. They borrow. They don't return. They waste your time. They make your day. They make fun of you when you suck at volleyball. They make birthdays worth living for. They tag you in pictures when you look like poop. They tell you when you've got blood stains. They fill in the silence with cheers the brief moment before you deliver your speech. They ditch you for better friends and better crowds. They make you say you hate math even if you don't. They always make you want to pretend you're someone you're not. It's great poem material. You can't live without them, but that doesn't mean you ought to build your life around them.
Maybe my hatred for conformity is all just because I get by so much better by myself than anyone else I know? That's what I am, I guess. I'm a loner. I'm alone. I'm aloof. I'm the quiet harmless thing sitting in the corner. I'm nothing else but, and I'm never going to be anything else because I didn't just spend my summer running races and plucking strings and getting in a varsity team and reinventing myself. No, I did boring things with my boring summer because I'm a boring person with a boring life. That's what they'd expect to hear because that's what they see me do.
But that's not my life.
But that's not my life.
My life is amazing.
