I am staring through the car door as I begin to draw little stick figures and hearts through the fog with my polished finger. It seems as though I have been waiting for a lifetime. It seems as though I can try my hardest, yet always be defeated. But I stay strong, I stay me. I contemplate on the years before me, as crucial images flash through my mind. I see pictures that I would never want to see again . . .
My mother in the hospital with cancer, no hair, loss of weight, and a smile.
My father in rehab with his rosary, a sponsor, and a smile.
Seeing guns pulled . . . and for what? Territory? Respect? No smile.
"You don't know what I've been through, you don't know hardship." - That kid that lives down my street with the black hair and the dirt underneath his nails.
You do not know me, nor my life. Do not assume that by my appearance, a young, Caucasian girl, that I do not know what hardship is. I do not need to prove what I have seen or done, it will not make a difference - it will not change a thing.
Unlike you, I do not mourn, I live for today; I may have been through things that have been hard, but I will not sulk. I have a great life. I have a roof over my head, a family who loves me, friends that make me laugh, an education that will help me succeed, food for me to consume, water for me to drink, clothes to keep me warm . . . I am happy, I am ecstatic, I have a great life . . . I keep telling myself that. I am not selfish, I am grateful. I am so grateful that I have cell phones and video games, my nails done and make-up, televisions and computers, I am so grateful . . . so why do I feel so awful? If I am so lucky, why do I feel so defeated?
You be you, I'll be me, 'cause in the end, we are all lucky-all the same. So no more smack talking, no more fighting words or throwing punches; you be you and I'll be me.
I'm ripping through the pages of my journal . . . fierce words are being spit back at me as vivid images will not be erased from my mind . . . I am lucky, I am lucky . . . but when all hope seems lost, I see a page with a happy face, a heart, and a peace sign. Unlike my other pages that are soiled with spit stains and rough edges, this one was neat with stickers and smooth sides. This page talks about the sky divers that came to my school and my friends who gave me a surprise cake for no reason and yet, I do not remember. Why can I not remember?
I remember the littlest things that are so dreadful, but something that is so beautiful, so pure, is yet to cross my mind. My teacher tells me that a good memory takes up one memory cell while a bad memory takes up ten. Is this true? Or one of her crazy theories?
I don't know, maybe I never will.
But now, I can honestly say that I am lucky, I am not kidding myself, I am lucky, truly and honestly. So you be you and I'll be me, 'cause in the end, we are all lucky-all the same.
Being Me,
Ushersg
