The people around me are becoming fake. I don't want to sound like Mr. Caulfield, but I see them becoming less and less themselves everyday. They obsess about makeup, instead of little princes who have flowers that must be protected from sheep. They think that they can see the most important things, but I learned from the fox that those things are invisible.
Like the little prince's flower, I have a notebook that must be protected from all the world. I carry her around with me, and I put little bits of myself into her. This is what you do when you do not care for beauty products like most people your age.
I have a brother who likes sports and text messages. He is still young, so he might grow into someone profound, yet its unlikely.
I have two older sisters who are caught in the arms of boyfriends, almost married. Far away and moving farther still. One has kids, one cares about her health a little too much. Something slightly more than superficial, yet it doesn't seem like enough.
I have father who loves music, yet he has not written a single note to express himself. He plays music other people wrote, music that other people played. He cannot open his mouth and say his own words. Excuses, excuses, excuses. He has a million excuses. Loves the bottle.
I have a mother who boasts about her children. She has a loud voice, and does not do anything that she loves. Watches television every night. Yells so much.
I have a sister who used to be a lot like me. She loved music, she wrote songs. She wrote poetry. She cared about the world and everything in it. Then one day she didn't anymore. She grew into boyfriends and lipstick, and wrote about purses instead of missing grandmothers. Maybe when I grow up that much, I will grow into someone like that.
If I am singing when we are walking home together, she tells me to stop. She asks me why I don't tell her anything, yet when I try she shrugs her shoulders, says "I don't know" and wonders aloud about reader's blog comments.
I don't want to say that I am special, or that I do not obsess sometimes about superficial, or meaningless things, but this lack of substance is getting to me. I can't be around people who don't have much there when you look a little bit closer. Who don't have a love of self, creativity, something that can't be bought, random thoughts, self discovery, and things like that.
(Thursday April 15, 2010 "A proven fact that girls who have agendas feel more important." 55/i365)
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