There are certain times in my life when I became the girl I knew I would be.
I somehow knew my future me as if in a movie.
Images of the me I pretended and longed to be.
Not a shy, tall, self-conscious, awkward, told she’s pretty, but too tall & big to be dainty.
Always hating my body and myself for losing a war with food. Wishing I could be a model. Reading every fashion magazine, every book on beauty and style.
I might never be a short, dainty, perky cheerleader, but I could transform from shy, quiet, unnoticed, not ugly, but unnoticed duckling into being the girl long seen so clearly.
I’d always hoped it would have happened overnight, without the unsaintly suffering of self introspection and hard work.
I actually still remember her fondly, with admiration and respect, a pretty, sweet, too mature, too quiet, too tall girl who stood up to the boys in high school one day who were torturing a baby bird.
She made them stop and took it under her wing. She wasn’t ever afraid when it came to saving helpless things.
She, a girl finding her way, making mistakes, too idealistic and trusting, too impulsive to wait for the light to turn green, rushing head long into the flames just to prove her ways were always worth the pain.
From who I was into who I’m meant to be because of who I was. (Ideally, at least)
I am not who I was as an 18 year old child in college.
A girl mucking up things, always pushing the envelope, always testing the limits, rebelling against the only thing that always defeated her.
A nemesis more dangerous for those sheltered into helplessness.
And no matter how hard she tried to overcome the personal hell of red tape and social mores…
(I’ll write more soon…)