I've Nearly Forgotten

It's funny how fast some things can change. One minute, I'm sitting all alone in math class laughing at the jokes some guy I've never met before keeps cracking, the next I end up texting him for three and a half hours straight. I'll be thinking about how he probably doesn't even know I exist and in a blink of an eye, I find out he likes me.

Now this is where things get difficult:

1.  One of my best friends was just making fun of him with another one of our friends the other day, and it just makes her knowing about how I feel all the more awkward. I don't want her to laugh at me or make fun of me because of who I like. Her being my friend and all, I probably have nothing to worry about; but being the paranoid human being I am, I can't help but approach the situation with caution.

If there is one single thing in the world I hate to be insulted about besides my body, it would be about whom I find attractive. To be honest, I don't think anyone but myself should have a say in who I like since they aren't me. It really irks me when she's basically pretending to be all excited for me when in reality, I know she thinks it's weird.

2.  I am both socially awkward and challenged and I'm definitely not the smoothest person around when it comes to guys. I'm used to having the guy I like end up laughing in my face and getting my heart broken in the end. For me, it's normal to have the only guys whom actually like me become creepy and want to follow me home even thought they know I don't feel the same. In no way am I actually used to having the guy I'm smitten by actually like me in return. In no way do I actually view myself as beautiful or pretty, or even worth the time it takes to get to know me. I think of myself as a helpless screw-up that anyone in their right mind would stay away from. I've gotten used to it.

I guess what I'm terrified of now is just the fact that I'll probably mess it all up. I've had two heartbreaks worth crying about so far in my sad excuse for a life and both of them were almost all my fault.

I was just trying to be nice because I didn't want to hurt him.

All I wanted was to find out the truth and to hear him say he was sorry.

And then it all came crashing down on top of me, leaving me with just enough room for the tears to slowly trickle down my face and disappear into the pile of rubble that is now my life.

The point I'm trying to get across here is that I'm scared. Scared to date; scared because I don't know how to date; scared to be happy; scared to love; scared to be loved; scared I'll ruin it all and make him hate me; scared of breaking his heart; scared of him breaking mine.

This is no proper way to live, but it's the way I unwillingly choose to. Cowering under the sheets, waiting for someone or something to make it all better and worth while. Now I may have possibly found that for the moment and all I want to do is go back into hiding.

3.  My heart feels so mixed up inside. It's almost like a vehicle that has been sitting in the garage underneath a thick layer of dust getting dragged back out onto the open road. The brittle gears, rusted with all the complicated experiences they've ever had to endure, slowly start to move. Fresh oil is added and for the first time in a long time, the antique starts itself up again and takes the risk of breaking down just to venture out into the great unknown.

I feel as if I have nearly forgotten what it feels like to have that space in your heart occupied once again by someone new — someone different. That "fuzzy" feeling you get when you see him, the way it sometimes feels like there's no one else in the room except for you two when you talk to him, the feeling of possibly being wanted. I welcome it all back like I would an old friend: Openly, but with extreme caution, as if what I just did may come back to haunt me in the future.

All I can do now is hope that the chance I'm taking will pay off, at least for a little while, resulting in happiness. With him entering my life these past few days, I finally remembered what it felt like to have a real smile crawl upon my face. I can now recall the sensation of having a rosy blush spread throughout my cheeks — one that was not caused due to some embarrassing incident — simply because he asked for my phone number. It truly is funny how fast things can change.

Because I Feel Like It

I write words. I don't know how many or what point they will be forced into proving, but I write them down anyway. Sometimes they go on my laptop, sometimes on a full sheet of loose-leaf, but most often they happen to appear on little scraps of ripped paper. I have quite the collection of those all over my bedroom. Song titles and their designated band or artist, poems, mere reminders, or perhaps even lyrics I've written for a song I plan to compose. I don't know. They're just there.

Letters turn into words. Words turn into sentences. Sentences turn into paragraphs. Sometimes it goes on like this for quite a while. For me, writing helps me overcome whatever emotional pain I'll be experiencing at the time. That being said, I write a lot.

It's sort of become a kind if uncontrollable impulse. Once a pen is grasped within my ugly little hands, you never know what words will flow through me and onto the paper. You can probably imagine how awkward it is for my math teacher to be sitting at home, watching Scooby-Doo or whatever it is teachers like to watch and marking my homework only to come across a little depressing poem sloppily hand-written at the bottom of the sheet and having to deal with the look she gives me as she hands it back the next day. Said expression is not exactly one would want from the person determining whether you'll make it to the next grade or not.

An abundance of all my mindless creations never even get to reach anyone else's eyes. The main reason for this is mainly because the majority of what I write is too personal and private to share. So they sit, saved on my computer, thrown in a drawer, or stuffed in my backpack, hidden from the rest of the world. Their mere existence is unannounced to every passer by. Only my mind contains the knowledge needed to find them in their little hiding spots.

Sometimes I get the urge to write and it simply cannot be ignored. And sometimes I want to go to Starbucks, curl up with a cup of hot-chocolate and write the day away. But I can't because Starbucks is too expensive and they'd probably kick me out after lurking there for more than half the afternoon.

I don't imagine myself to be the best writer in the universe, but it makes me happy so why not?

I Am A Mess

You self-conscious fool,

Look at what you've done;

Without someone to love,

You loose all the fun.

Give up, go home,

And never return;

Your mind is a witch,

So I'll watch you burn.

No Better Thing Or Word Than Spelunking

Today I was watching a television show on caves and spelunking. If it were my decision, caves would be considered a wonder of the world — even the tiny ones. Truly gorgeous. Whilst viewing this show, it made me think of all the caves I've been to during my short, worthless life. To be honest, I've only been in two, but that's not the point. The point is how amazing they truly are.

A few years back, my family and I took a vacation to the wonderful province of British Columbia (we go there a lot). During that trip we visited a mountain that happened to have a cave spelunking tour and being the completely extreme, adventurous family we are, we decided on the easiest beginner route. The only part of the trip that was difficult in any sense was the virtually vertical hike up the mountain to where the caves were actually located. Utterly strenuous. After about an hour and a half of the trek, we eventually did reach the top and readied ourselves for the descent into the damp darkness.

I must say, from the few lights that were conveniently located on the tops of our helmets, I have never seen anything so amazing. Underground, you see things and shapes made by nothing but water and the minerals it contains. I find it hard to believe that it takes years for them to form such creations and that something as simple as a human touch could bring it crashing down, leaving nothing but regret with the person whom caused such damage. Luckily, nothing of that matter happened when we were down there.

The single detail that I remember the most is when our guide led us to the bottom of the small cave and told us to turn off our helmet lights and witness complete darkness. She asked us in her striking Australian accent to wave our hand in front of our faces. Being the egotistical group we were, almost every person out of the twenty or so that came along for the trip scoffed in her face and directly stated that they could see their hands perfectly clear. The guide seemed to be expecting this, however, because she merely laughed and told us to grab a partner and hold up a certain number of fingers in front of their faces and then see if it wasn't so dark. The scorn within the group soon turned to shock as we realized that we couldn't see anything at all and listened attentively as our Australian guide explained that our brains know what they're supposed to see when we wave our own hands in front of our faces, and fool us into believing that we have vision.

Image credit: http://www.hotnaturally.com/img/img_man-in-caves.jpg

That cave was probably more riveting since it was less influenced by man than the second one I visited. Still in B.C., my family then travelled to Ainsworth Hot Springs Resort. Here, the luxuriously warm water runs in a loop that goes into one cave and out another. I love visiting hot springs as it is, but the caves seemed to give the whole atmosphere that extra something. It gave me that same sensation that makes me want to curl up in a warm blanket next to a window spattered with rain drops and read a good book whilst listening to some sort of ambient music. Wonderful. Despite the crowds, it was a pleasant experience and I would love to relive every minute of it.

I have many absurd dreams and one of them is to discover and explore a cave that has never been found before by anyone. How exciting that would be. When I'm in a cave it feels as if I've entered a whole new world full of unique findings and endless adventures. I plan to go back to the mountain that contained the first cave I'd ever entered and take a more challenging route that will hopefully go deeper and darker than I've ever gone in one. One day…

I Barely Noticed

Only three more years. Three more years of being whatever I am now. A kid? A teen? A hopeless romantic? A loser? I don't know. All that I know for sure is that I'm suddenly so desperately afraid of loosing it.

This feeling all started last wednesday, as that day signalled the first day of high school. Yes, high school. Those memorable three years that everyone from fresh graduates to parents to seniors still recall and reflect upon whether it be good or bad. Call me crazy, but as soon as my feet crossed the threshold of the school, it felt as if my whole childhood flashed through my mind.

I saw my first trip to DisneyLand, the view I had from the naughty chair in kindergarten after I put Playdough in my friend's hair (and how she still gave me hugs after that), when it was still socially acceptable to use the facilities with the door wide open, the day in grade five when I lost the elephant charm on one of my necklaces, how I had the first and only fight to this day with my friend when we were in junior high, that stupid fight between my group of friends over a picture frame, the first day I laid my eyes on his beautiful face in grade seven, and how he still managed to break my heart in grade nine even though he wasn't even mine.

And then I was back beside my friend, laughing to hide the pain. The pain of the realization that I'm growing up. Obviously, I've always been aware that I'm getting older and it's not like I expected to stay nine years old forever, it's just that it all happened so fast. So remarkably fast. One minute I'm having the time of my life playing with Barbies with my brother, and the next I'm trying to block "his" face from reappearing in my mind as I'm trying to figure out trigonometry for the hundredth time. The contrast is obvious and so entirely sad.

I could go on forever about the changes, the memories, the pain of growing up, but why write seventeen novels when I can state everything I need to say in one sentence: I don't want to grow up.

Salty Utopia

For the majority of my life, I've acquired quite a fascination with the ocean. However much I may adore it, I've only been in and close to an ocean on a few rare occasions in my life. I'll never forget how beautiful it was.

The first time I set foot in the sea was a few summers back. My family and I decided that we were going to take a road-trip down to Tofino on Vancouver Island, BC. Being from one of Canada's prairie provinces, I'm definitely not exaggerating when I say it took us four days to get there, including the numerous rest-stops that became necessary from my father's exhaustion (he was the one driving, after all).

After nearly ninety-six hours of unpleasant car-sickness, several ferry rides, and a farting, complaining brother, I found it to be quite the relief when we finally reached the condominium complex we were to be staying at. It turned out to be a forty minute drive to the nearest beach but as soon as I took one step out of the vehicle, the aroma of the sea rushed to meet me. We were surrounded; surrounded by paradise.

Many days were spent driving around, absorbing the breath-taking scenery, and occasionally stopping at a few small beaches we found along the way. My favourite day, however, was one of the very last. That was the day we went to Long Beach — the first day I'd ever actually swam in the ocean.

Many people whom had visited the beach before strongly advised us to wear wetsuits and that we would barely be able to stand the temperature of the water for very long, so it was definitely a surprise to us all when I ended up spending three and a half hours riding the waves on my stomach and diving to excavate sand-dollars from within the sand bed. My brother and father whom also swam that day gave up after almost two hours and went to join my mother as she was in a beach chair and in charge of snacks. Unfortunately for them, the wind wasn't very pleasant to be in — especially since two of the three were wet. I didn't have a problem with it, however, as I spent the majority of my time under the waves that crashed overhead or seeing how close I could swim to a rock that was a temporary resting spot to an abundance of sea lions without having them spot me.

Finally, I was collected from my salty paradise and driven back to the condo with a red plastic cup filled with sand-dollars, beauteous shells, and even some oysters that contained gorgeous pearls within my grasp. I'm surprised I didn't go delirious from all the salt water I had swallowed that day. I remember that for a few days after that, I could still taste the ocean every time I licked my lips. I never got sick of it.

One day I'm going to move somewhere along the coast. That way, I'll be able to swim, scuba, beach-comb, and relax to the wondrous sound of waves until my heart's content. My heart lies within the sea.

Let's Not Do This Again Sometime

I can't really come to a decision on whether or not I enjoy large family gatherings. What I am certain of is that they are exhausting. If I'm visiting with one related family, I'm fine. When it comes to a group of twenty, however, including those whom remember me when I was a baby that I couldn't recall to save my life or just complete strangers, I tend to have a more difficult time being out-going.

I try so hard just to carry a five minute conversation that by the end of it, I feel like I need a nap. But I can't even sit down because before I know it, some distant relative I don't recognize has me in a firm embrace and is going on about how much I've grown. So I force on yet another overwhelming smile that everyone just seems to eat up and ask them things I really couldn't care less about.

I feel like I'm being rude sometimes because little does everyone know, I would rather be curled up in a blanket in a closet listening to music and hiding myself from the world rather than talk. I can't change this feeling. I would if I could. I usually only get like this by the end of the reunion and spend my time actually being nice and caring without needing to fake for the first couple of hours before I get cranky.

To add to my exhaustion is the fact that I only got less than two hours of sleep the night before all thanks to an obnoxious thunderstorm. I also spent most of the party with my second cousins: Amelia is turning ten in a few weeks and William just blew out the candles for his sixteenth birthday. Their personalities are complete opposite because I'm pretty sure I've exchanged more words with Amelia than I have with anyone in the past two months whereas William referred to me and my brother as "those other people,"  spoke to us just to say hi when we first arrived, and ignored us the rest of the time. All he did was hide in the basement and watch television and she was right on my heels every step I took. Don't get me wrong — they both can be really fun. William was just absorbed in hating everything at the moment and Amelia was just a little over excited as a result of not seeing us in five years.

Everyone else at the get-together was an adult and, by the sickening aroma in the house, spent most of their time drinking or smoking when they weren't busy harassing me with questions. And then comes the drama. I expected some bickering going into it but by the end of the day, some people wouldn't even look at each other let alone communicate.

Overall, I think I had a pretty good time. I got to see family whom live too far away to visit frequently and more importantly, survived. Although I did happen to get some of my Aunt's champagne all over me because the glass she was using broke in her hand. It also got on my other Aunt's ceiling, but she was too drunk to care. Then again, when don't any of these things happen with my family.