At seventeen years old, I don’t feel like I’ve gained any sort of special perspective on life in the year between being sixteen and being seventeen. Everything I’ve learned my brothers and sister and parents and cousins and aunts and uncles and family friends may have learned before me. And so I’ve pretty much accepted the fact that I am not the greatest thing since the creation of the periodic table, but I tell myself that to get me through the day with my self esteem still intact.
I love blue skies with white clouds floating across (it’s where I spend most of my time). I love good music, movies, books, poetry – anything and everything to do with the arts. I always root for the underdog. I don’t like people resistant to necessary change, discrimination (that covers a wide variety of things that are bad), pointlessness and circling around a point instead of getting right to it, and slow walkers in the hallways. Everything else, my tolerance level changes with my mood.
The only person I can even pretend to be is me. I’m not particularly smart or socially, politically, or economically aware. I’m only aware enough to the point that I can live in this world without being a complete idiot. I’m ignorant, irrational, contradictory, forgetful, and utterly selfish. At the same time I am a quick learner, an emotional rock, and self-aware enough to know when I have to change, what I have to change, and how I have to go about changing. I don’t compromise myself. I don’t pretend to be a genius, an entertainer, or even a mildly interesting person. The only thing I can say is that you’ll have to meet me to know if you like me.
Peace,
Caroliena
