When I was a toddler, my pre-school had a total of six, large classrooms as well as one massive playground where the kids gathered and milled around for about an hour, everyday.
We bounced tennis balls against the wall and called it “wall-ball” but when I went back there as a teenager, the classrooms looked run-down and shabby, and I couldn’t believe that I could reach the monkey bars without lifting my feet off the ground.
Since I’d left, my pre-school had stayed the same and I had grown up in more ways than one. Continue reading
Sometimes I wonder about nice people
Do they know just how delightful they are?
Do they make an effort to be that pleasant?
If they’re conscious of their niceness, why do they choose to be so?
But then I wonder, are they actually nice?
Or do they just want to be known as someone who is warm and benign on the outside,
so that they’ll be more liked?
And then I ask myself whether or not it’s bad to make an effort to be such a pleasant person
Purposely saying nice things for the sake of being nice
Is it because they figure there’s already so much hatred in the world,
Or because they were taught that that was the correct thing to do?
But no one can be 100% nice.
Sadness and frustration always chips away at the shell of politeness and happiness
Do they deal with stress very well?
Do they just really appreciate life?
What if they only want good things to happen to people?
What if they just like you? Maybe they like me.
Sometimes I wonder about anti-nice people.
Horrible, nasty, pessimistic human beings.
Are they just permanently not nice?
Except, what if they just had a bad day? What if they didn’t sleep well?
Has something in their past caught up to their present?
What if they don’t think it’s necessary to be nice?
What if they think that no one deserves their niceness
Or maybe it’s just me – and the way I measure niceness
Not in how many words or good deeds
But by the intentions behind the words and deeds
Because we’re all different
And we all see the world differently.
What if they just don’t like you? Maybe they don’t like me.
I’m getting old. Wow, 16? Where have the years gone? The transition from trick or treating and getting tired at 11 PM to never sleeping before midnight and having my backpack weigh 70 pounds has been shaky, to say the least. My innocence slipped out the door in seventh grade when I asked my friends what a virgin was. I remember the first time I actually listened to a radio station besides NPR – 6th grade. I remember the first time I tried to put on mascara – I got an eye infection. In elementary school, my mom literally had to put on my clothes for me as a sleepy-eyed 8 year old Catherine complained of drowsiness from only 9 hours of sleep. I remember all my teachers since pre-school, and I remember the first book that was ever read to me – the Boxcar Children.
Now, I’m in high school. The days literally go buy 20 times faster than they used to. I can put on makeup without a mirror, I can survive with 4 hours of sleep. I can accept the fact that I can’t fit into my 7th grade jeans and that I can never be the kid at summer camp again, only the counselor (except for maybe next summer). No longer is my bookshelf filled with the “A to Z Mysteries” series and Mrs. Pigglewiggle books, but rather, SAT workbooks and old textbooks. The most exciting reads I have time to read include Jane Eyre (which is actually somewhat interesting) and my AP Euro book (which I like to read sometimes, because knowing the background and development of current day events is beneficial).
I’m never going to be that young ever again. From now on, I’m only going to have to shoulder more responsibilities. One day, I might be responsible for someone else’s life besides my own. I’m going to have to read the news and understand what the 2016 presidential candidates advocate to fulfill my role as an informed voter. There are so many laws and policies that I’m unaware of, and if I make a mistake, I don’t have the excuse of not being aware of consequences anymore.
I don’t like getting old, because I think life will only get harder as I continue aging. But I also want to get older because while I will have more burdens, I’ll also have more opportunities. With each birthday, I get more privileges that I envied as a child. I can drive! I can watch PG-13 movies! I can eat sample at Costco without my mom’s approval! Soon, I’ll be able to vote, drink, smoke, get into R-rated movies, and I’ll be eligible to get a job, and make my own money. Soon, I will be able to order products from infomercials without my dad telling me it’s a stupid investment, because I know it will be. I’ll just be swayed by the infomercial.
I’ll mature. I’ll find out more about the world as I travel to more places. I’ll meet better people that tell me wiser things and help me make more educated decisions. My friends will encourage me to do what I love. Perhaps someday, I will have the chance to be the teacher instead of the student, even though I’m learning something new every day. Maybe I’ll become a role model instead of the one admiring my hero. And maybe, I’ll finally find out WHAT I’m meant to do, who I’m meant to be.
But for now, I’m still relatively young. I’m older, but that’s not such a tragedy anymore.