From time to time, I think about this tick I always had. Whether it be the fact that I could never stop moving my legs even when sitting or that I always left a group so that I could wander off on my own. There was and still is this spark inside me, festering and fizzing, anxious to get out. I want to be important but not in the sense of being an idol. I just want to help. I want to be able to look at something and say, “Oh, I helped create that.” Sometimes I get anxious though because there is too much potential in front of all of us, it’s all there for us to take and make lives from, and yet I and so many I know stand quaking in our boots. Waiting for something, possibly the gentle push of a hand on our backs.
“You are trapped on Earth so you will explode.”
The youth is for your enjoyment, at least that’s what I’ve concluded. Whether it be to amuse or to shock, I and you are here to bring about change. Another wave of screams and laughter, love and grief. I am so happy to feel—that may sound weird, but emotions are so fascinating to me! Sometimes I’m strong, standing on my own amongst a vast sea of deep blue ink that is just waiting for me to dip my hands into so I can write the next scene of this story. Other times I’m not afraid to admit I need my mom or my dad, that I need my friends to hug me. I don’t want to tell them why I feel helpless, I just want to feel embraced when the world feels like a revolving door that keeps pushing you in and out.
“In a dream I saw a way to survive and you were full of joy.”
This summer I spent a lot of time outside, but particularly at night. Sort of like Sky Ferreira’s album Night Time, My Time, I too felt more awake when the moon was my sun. My friends and I would take these drives, music blaring. I’d roll down my windows so I could hear the chaotic mix of Young Thug, cicadas, wind whipping across my face, and my friends’ voices jumping over each other. That’s magic to me, those memories. I pluck each one and pack them away mentally, my little treasures.
Sometimes when I actually talk to my mom about how I feel about this being my last summer as a teen, she mentions that she wishes she could have spared me from the melancholy I was feeling. She’d say, “I’m supposed to protect you from all of this.” I tell her that she shouldn’t apologize though, because without these experiences I’m not sure where I’d be. These memories act as building blocks that support me. I am a restless mess but I am in love. In love with my family, my girlhood, my friends, and life. So thank you.
“It is in your self-interest to find a way to be very tender.”