Oh, Cecilia? Cecilia Graca
So after writing what I wrote today, it made me feel a little sad. But it also made me question what happened afterwards too. Sure, I was most awkward when I left high school. But then afterwards I got to go out with the most popular guy right after we left high school. Okay, okay, maybe I exaggerate a little bit. Not right after high school, in the beginning of college. And sure it was college, what does high school matter? Accept when you transfer to a community college right up the hill from your high school where most of your high school class came with you.
And it felt like a triumph. There I was, voted most awkward, standing with most unforgettable, class president, and in my opinion, most interesting. And I did feel like I belonged. Finally, I wasn’t so awkward in everyone’s eyes anymore, at least, maybe not in the point of being MOST awkward. And so I got the guy, maybe not my guy, but I got the guy.
So how did that go? I fell in love with him. And more times than not, he turned out to be a jerk. And he fucked up so many times that it’s comical to even say I go back every time to tell him I love him still. He made me so sad at times. But he also made me so very happy.
And now I start arguments for no reason, but I can’t lie, he provides the fuel for the fires. And I am passionate about him; it’s a bit crazy. He can make me so angry, but he can also make me feel so happy.
And he says he loves me, but I don’t know. To be honest, there are so many things I hate about him. But there are so many things I love about him.
And with that, I don’t know. Should I keep him hanging on or should I just let him go completely? I cannot decide.
I so I sit here and think to myself. Awkward eventually stripped itself away, until everyone forgot about it and now it’s just a story, but now I feel a little stripped away too. Or maybe not stripped, but torn. Torn in between what happened. Some days it feels like a triumph, being with him. Sometimes not.
For the record though, I didn’t like him just because he was popular or anything of that sort. I found him to be amazing. There was just something about him. And I write that, although at the moment I find him to be an idiot, with knowing that I still find him to be amazing.
It just has to do with the boy. Because I don’t know if I should let go of him yet. Have I truly learned what I needed to learn? Was all that happened worth happening?
I want to say yes.
No light exist in the room accept for that of her screen. She wonders what to write about. Laptop in place as she sits on the couch, contemplating. She decided she will not write about the boy today. No, he seems to get too much airtime in her mind. No, she will think about other things.
She takes the time to remember when she first started college. Community college that is. This wasn’t what she thought it would be.
She remembers what her younger self thought college would be like. She had imagined it to be something a bit like the movies. Of course, touring college campuses does make for some picturesque perception of what college would be like. Aside from the idea of joining sororities and going to parties and studying in the library and decorating her dorm, she had her ideas of what college would be like for her.
She thought she would wear sweat pants a lot. Not just the “I’m lazy, I came to class in pajamas”, I mean, the cute sweats. The kind one saw at like Victoria Secret’s or Hollister, where they look so casual rolled up the ankle a tad bit. To her, these sweat pants said she was super relaxed, studious but cute. These sweatpants would mean she had her act together, but she didn’t need to dress up and try hard for people to know that. Wearing sweatpants while looking pretty, naturally pretty, this was her idea of her college self.
For some reason, she thought that during her college life, she would become an expert on baking. Baking muffins to be exact. She had once read a recipe in a Moosewood cookbook on muffins and their variations. And she thought that once she was older, college-age being old enough, she would perfect these muffins. Eating mini muffins, baked perhaps that morning or late afternoon, right before her class, in which she arrived early to have a leisurely snack of muffins.
So far, in her second year of studies, she has yet to perfect wearing a pair of sweats beautifully or expertly bake muffins.
So I begin my creative quest with this blog. Not that I am entirely dry, I’m just not oozing creativity. Although I want to say I just never have very original ideas when it comes to artwork and all that, maybe I’m just really shy when it comes to expressing myself in that way. I mean, I like drawing, but screwing up scares me.
What if the face I’m drawing doesn’t look like the person I mean to be drawing? What if what I write is so true, it scares me? What if, I don’t know…someone tells me I’m “wrong”?
So even in cases when I’m being creative, I don’t like to share, even when I know in a sense, that it’s right. I don’t actually share until I feel absolutely sure that it’s right to the fullest extent. Which I guess in a way is kind of crazy. Because there are no rights or wrongs when it comes to being creative.