Monday, September 27, 2004

Memory #1
Sitting at a table he leaned over with a scrutinizing look in his eye and critically asked, "Why are you always so mysterious?"

Startled I looked at the boy whom I had rarely thought to talk to. We were on two different levels, he and I, of the stereotypical popular sort and the unknown (those that were, and those that wished to be).

It was at this moment in my life, that I realized the facade I had worked to produce, one that would protect me from the external harshness of the world, and allow me to make my own decisions about people, had utterly saturated my appearance. I had become that which I sought, that which--when confronted with in a mirror-- I detested.

My desire to make friends had been spited by the fact that I came off as 'mysterious', an unknown factor, that should have been interesting, but perhaps despite the deepness to my persona, came off as a shallow pool of water that merely reflected an image, one that grew dull when not allowed passage into the depths of this pool, forcing the viewer to move on.

My desire for this boy to know me, or any part of me beyond that which appeared in the phsyical, was purely vanity. I now believe it anyway, for the friends that I had made up to that point were carefully chosen, were let through my gates by an absolute choice, hand picked like the finest and sweetest fruits of the orchard. People that I knew, like the most beautiful trees, would produce even more fruits, those of friendship and longevity, that I could only hope to return fully.

For that instance in which I replied to him with a question, I thought perhaps if I had not been so quiet, not so shy, not so, me. I might have had different friends, been accepted into the greater society.

This lasted for five minutes before I realized...

I like who I am. If I am percieved as mysterious, so be it. I loved my friends, and who I was becoming, if that is a mystery to the world, so be it.

Most importantly, I like who I have become, despite any "bad" choices I make, I know they are mine and not choices forced upon me by anyone, or influenced by any other source but my own mind, for in all of us exists that own sense of mystery, to which we do not understand the choices we make sometimes.

And yet, we make them anyway.
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