How come smiles give way for dreams?
How come laughter turns to tears?
How can you close your eyes and still see?
How can you hear a voice’s melody?
How can you lose something you never had?
How can you miss someone you never knew?
How can someone love so much?
But what if it’s not for you?
Prose prompt from Yeah Writers!
When I was sixteen, I fell madly in love. At first I thought it was only one of the many relationships I had and am having. I knew well how to play around, have fun and enjoy the moment while it lasts.
The first time I saw Jason was in a pub – sitting in one corner while I cheerfully sang and danced at the centre. The entire night, I acted like I didn’t notice him staring. I hit my bed forgetting about him.
The second time I saw him was during our first date. His torn jeans-white-shirt get up unexpectedly looked good on him. His clean-cut hair even made him look, ah, what’s the word? Charming. After dinner, I was surprised he bought apple pie for my folks before taking me home. As I watched him walk to his car, I realised two alarming things : he’s different and I like it.
That’s when I started hanging out with Jason more. Didn’t know what kind of songs he let me listen to but I gave up the noisy club music. I wasn’t sure if I was too clingy but I always wanted to be near him. I was used to guys chasing me around but one text and I’ll come running to him in seconds. Late night phone conversations became a routine. Love letters quickly turned to be the “it” thing.
A young love blossomed around us. Soon, we found ourselves naming our unborn children and designing our dream house. I loved the idea of marriage and of wedding anniversaries. You’d be surprised, how at 16, I came up with an entire 20 year plan of our life together.
The last time I saw Jason was on his wedding day. I hugged him tight after he brushed my hair.
“Never thought I was sexy enough to find a bride eh?” he said jokingly.
“Who would not want a handsome man like you?” I tapped his shoulder.
“For starters, that would be you,” he answered.
“Only because you didn’t ask, silly!”
We were still laughing after we said our goodbyes. And that was it.
I watched Jason dance with his lovely wife and memories of when I was sixteen suddenly filled my mind. I remembered how we were crazy about each other. How I thought he was the one, my soul mate, my other half.
A soft warm hand found its way to mine and snapped me back to reality.
“Jealous?” It was Matt.
“Not in a million years.”
Matt looked at me like no man has ever gazed into my dark hazel eyes. He embraced me and kissed my cheeks gently. I pulled closer to kiss him, passionately this time. And when I opened my eyes I saw Jason looking towards our direction, smiling. I smiled back and showed him the gem on my ring finger.
When I was sixteen, I was madly in love. I was crazy and fearless. But I was also young and foolish. Jason and I both were. We said things, we did things because we didn’t know any better. Sixteen is an age of exploration, adventures and misadventures. It’s exciting and provoking and intriguing at the same time. But one thing is for sure – at sixteen, everything and everyone don’t stay the same.
I always thought I was beautiful. Growing up, I don’t remember a single person telling me otherwise. Nobody made fun of my appearance. I wasn’t picked on because I was ugly. Seriously speaking, I don’t think I am. Maybe nobody cared to notice that I look awful, but no one really said anything wrong about me. Physically at least.
Sure, I was never the first choice when it comes to beauty contests. Scrap that! I wasn’t even an option. Boys seemed to be appalled by my mere presence. Girls just didn’t bother. I don’t like make-up; I don’t wear skimpy, sexy clothes; I’m not charming; I’m not exceptionally intelligent. I do not stand out.
I’m not the prettiest but I believe I am beautiful.
Is it weird that I feel like this? Can you call it over confidence? Maybe fantasizing? Hallucinating? And is it unlikely for a teenage girl to love herself and not be insecure?
Should I run to a psychologist just because I’m not relating to what kids my age are going through? I don’t think so.
Don’t get me wrong, other girls are attractive too. They really are! They’re gorgeous! I don’t think of myself highly than anyone else. Because really, I’m not.
I just like me more.
I think my hair falls perfectly unruly; my eyebrows are beautifully thick; my smile exposes my unique dentures; my lips are wonderfully colourless. I
like love that about me.
You see, I’m not beautiful like you. I’m beautiful like me.
I hope that’s OK.
Question: If you knew what I knew, would you stop acting the way you do?
The strap of your backpack hugs your low shoulder with your school uniform hanging loose from your body. I never see you carry yourself proud when you pass the hallway.
Here comes the ‘it’ girls making fun of you. Their eyes check every inch of you with their menacing stares. Ignore them. One of these days you’ll see those babes carelessly laughing in the sidewalk, contented with what little they have. By then, they’ll have nothing but your pity.
The doom chair on the corner of the room is calling you and off towards it you go. Few minutes are spent looking at all the pretty girls and the boys that flirt around them. Unconsciously, your fingers run through the loose hair strands covering your face. Forgive me but you’re so cute when you’re trying to fight over your insecurities!
Let me tell you something: six, seven years from now, you’re going to turn into a fine lady nothing short of captivating charm and beauty. Someday you’re going to know and feel your worth. Believe me when I say these silly boys who ignore you would look like pigs when they throw themselves at your feet – crawling, begging for your attention. When that happens, remember to roll your eyes at them and smile.
Then you force yourself to get in to some cliques; I can see you doing silly things just to fit in. I tell you that those ‘ friends’ were up to no good but you won’t listen. I try my best to warn you about that boy who will eventually break your teenage heart but you are so hard-headed.
If I confess that in the years to come the world will give you great friends that are willing to die for you, would you believe me? You’ll have them and they’re going to accept your uniqueness. They’ll laugh at your silly love problems and cry at your corny jokes. They’ll call you weird (you’ll punch them) but love that about you. If I say I’ve met them already, would you believe me? You have to!
You can’t see me but I’m here. I’m close enough to notice the tears that roll down your cheeks yet far enough to watch your wobbly stride as you walk home alone.
I really want to hold your hand and tell you that everything will make sense soon. I want to comfort you by the fact that this is just a stage of your life. This is just a drill for the big day when you finally soar. Everything that’s happening right now will just be a fun and learning story you’ll look back to.
Personally, I thank you for messing up and for being insecure and for not being perfect. Otherwise I wouldn’t be what you made me to be. So hey, little darling of my past, cheer up!