Sometimes, when I don’t have much else to think of, I think of kissing. Some days I just long to have someone that would press their lips to mine. It’s strange how special a kiss can make one feel. The physical description of it, “two lips touching,” hardly sounds special, but it is.
I get shivers when I think of the way boys have looked at me before a kiss. Soft eyes, taking me in as though I’m the only person in the room, in the world even. And there’s that moment before your lips meet, where you can just feel your heart. When it’s right, the feeling is not nervousness. It’s almost a longing. And a pain. Kisses are bittersweet. They last for a moment, and though you might look at each other in googly-eyed wonder that “they wanted to kiss me!“, the kiss is merely a small moment of your life. And if for some reason you miss the opportunity to kiss that other, you think about it for the next days afterwards. You wallow in regret. Why didn’t I just kiss him? What harm could have been done?
That short time during a good kiss– from when your lips first meet to when they part– that, I think, is the happiest moment one can experience.
It was in grade nine that I met the girl that I will likely always be jealous of.
We met playing volleyball and she became a close friend of mine over that year. If one were asked to describe either one of us, the description would be near-identical. At the time we looked very similar with tanned skin, an abundance of curls, and long, lanky limbs. We called ourselves “Mocha” and “Caramel” because my skin was slightly lighter than hers and we felt we needed nicknames (our other friend was “White Chocolate”).
I did not play volleyball after that one year but I heard from White Chocolate (what a ridiculous name) that Mocha had been asked to join the elite team and was their starting middle, the position we both competed for during that year we played together. I had her on Facebook and saw her become more and more beautiful…than me. I felt trapped behind her: not beginning to straighten my hair until a year after she began regularly straightening hers, suddenly becoming curvier than her, and she grew a few inches taller than I.
There were times that I’d look at her profile and just lament over my own looks and disappointment in myself. Why can’t I take photos like that? Why can’t I be as thin as her? as tall? How can I make my hair to be as long as hers? Should I have had a boyfriend because she has?
It got to the point where I had to hide her from my newsfeed or risk being miserable once a day.
I guess my question/point of this post is why do we feel the need to compare ourselves to others?
When I’m not thinking about Mocha, I really like myself. I’m proud of my curves, I don’t mind my face (though sometimes I worry that it’s a bit lopsided), and I really do like myself as a person. But as soon as she comes into the picture that all falls down. Isn’t it sad that I have to put measures in place to ensure I don’t get upset about not being her?
I suppose it’s a matter of confidence. I can be happy with myself, I just need to learn to not look at myself in relation to others, I think.
I’m not quite sure I like how personal this was, but it was on my mind as I just came across her profile once again.
My heart hurts.
I’ve realized that I haven’t updated my blog as often as I’d like to, so I’m kind of forcing myself to write this though my brain is clouded in a sleepy haze at the moment.
I’ve been away at university for not three weeks and so far I absolutely love it here. Though I have had bouts of missing people and wanting to be alone (honestly, that first week where I was forced to socialize in order to make and keep friends was exhausting), there really isn’t anywhere I’d rather be.
I’m sure my delight is also partially due to the fact that I will be going home for Thanksgiving weekend. I’ll be there for such a short time it seems almost redundant, but when my dad told me he’d booked the ticket I became a lot happier. I cannot wait to see my friends, but I’m sure that just a few days at home will be make overly eager to get back.
Life here has been amazing. I’ve found so many like-minded people, a task that was very hard at home. However, again, I still miss my friends.
Okay, I’ll stop wasting your time and write something worthwhile next time…my past few posts haven’t been very thrilling.
I’ve not been at school for a week and already I’m feeling lonely.
It’s really silly, because I feel like I have an over-abundance of friends. There’s always someone who wants to do something with me. But today I just had the most anti-social day and ended up thinking about home.
Don’t get me wrong: there is no way I would want to go back home, even to see my family and friends. There’s nothing for me there. But I miss everyone terribly. I think that’s going to be the hardest part in these months away. I’m sure I’ll be better in a bit. It’s just hard. And I feel like what inspired this sadness is the fact that I had time to log on to Facebook and see what everyone’s up to. I’d delete it if I could but that would just sever ties and not really solve the problem. I’ve realized that I have an issue with avoidance.
Tonight I think I’ll stay in and let myself be upset. Tomorrow is another day, and I’m hoping I’ll be happier.
Now to read this letter my mom wrote and included baby pictures in. I swear she’s trying to ruin me…
At the moment I’m sitting here in my living room with my whole life halfway packed in 4-soon-to-be-5 suitcases. In less than two days I will be taking a plane out to British Columbia to start a next phase in my life: university.
Everyone said I’d be sad at this point, reluctant to stray from my home. Though I don’t consider myself a particularly sentimental person, I was prepared for at least a little bit of a longing to stay. However now that the time to go approaches fast as ever that feeling has yet to come.
The fact is I’ve been waiting for years to leave. I feel like the time frame for me to be upset about leaving has come and gone due to the amount of time I’ve been waiting. I’m so old, should have been gone years ago…
But it occurred to me that as much as this is a new beginning for me, it’s an ending for my family. The end of seeing me every day, the end of our bonding time, the end of my regular stories, the end of my parents’ marriage…
And I feel bad for them. How silly of me to think that their happiness in life hinges on my presence, but it really does change things.
Of course there are things I’ll miss. I mean, I’m so so close to my parents. Though he annoys me a lot, my dad is one of my best friends. And my mom is the one person in the world I trust with absolutely anything. As for my brother, we’ve never really been terribly close but it’s always nice to know he’s around–makes me feel a bit less alone. There are my friends too–I just had my final goodbye with my two childhood best friends. And a little part of me might miss that one boy.
But I’m moving on. And there’s nothing I’m more excited for than this.
I just hope my family will be okay without me.