How do you explain something that isn’t your fault?  What do you say?  I have never been able to know what to say.  I stand next to a person in shock, just staring.  I am the best person to come to when there is something wrong, as long as it is a little thing.  I can deal with boys who don’t know my friends exist, I can deal with an insult from a friend, I can handle a fashion disaster.

But you can’t fix a divorce, or a dead grandmother. So I just stand there when I know that even a hug would help.  It is almost that I’m scared of getting too close.  I like to run away from sadness.  I like to pretend it doesn’t exist,  like the paper lunch bag that has been sitting on my floor, next to my soccer bag for the last two weeks.  My friends have always come to me with little disasters that don’t matter.  A fight there, a hot guy here, but then someone comes to me and says they still can’t go to sleepovers because they get anxiety attacks I want to leave.  They said that they had this one thought about the pills in their medicine cabinet.

I tell them what every person should tell them.  Go to an adult, go to a parent.  I smile at them, ask how they are.  But all i want to do is run. I want to run and run and run.  I want to get the hell out of there.  Because I am scared.  I am scared that I will be the next.  I will be the kid with the divorced parents, the anxiety attacks and the suicidal thoughts.  I know that suicide isn’t contagious.  I know that if anything happens to me I want to be surrounded by friends.  But it is easier to get away from it all.  It is easier to pretend it never happens.


The Day Shapes You

My language arts teacher always says to write in the morning.  The morning is when you don’t have to be influenced by what the day brings.  At night you are too caught up in the day’s feelings to even have clear thoughts, let alone write.  The morning is win you have sup rising things that you don’t know existed come into your head.  It is when your subconscious is the most vocal.  It is like your dreams, unpredictable.

But isn’t what you are shaped by your day?  The circumstances that you are placed in define you.  A day brings so many situations that bring out the worst and best in you.  You are malleable, constantly adapting to your environment.  And so is your mind.  Your subconscious responds to what the day brings.  Your mind might be whirling from the day, but is shaping you.  It isn’t any less imaginative, or creative than what you think of in the morning.  It is just easier to relate to life.

I always wonder who I would’ve been if I had been born somewhere else.  I wonder if the place where I live changes everything about me, even my blood pressure.  I wonder if everything would be slightly shifted to the left, or to the right.  Would I be able to have the same moral values if I grew up in Honolulu?  This is why your day shapes you.  So in the evening you are no less true to yourself then you were in the morning.


Best Friends

I came home from new Zealand in the summer.  Nobody was there to greet me.  When my sister came home she had five friends, with their hands pressed up against the glass.  They were jumping up and down waiting for her.  Nobody was there for me.  It was alight though, I was home.  I wasn’t going to be alone anymore.  I was going to have friends, but still the glass window unoccupied haunted me.  I always thought about it.  Why wasn’t there someone there for me.  I had been gone for eight months, didn’t they want to see me?

Do I not deserve to have friends who support me?  I always wonder why my sister has all of these perfect relationships and I don’t.  I start to wonder if I am bad at being a friend.  I don’t know, but it makes me feel lonely.  And sometimes when I go to bed I see the empty window, and I wonder if I was better off in New Zealand.  At least there I thought I had perfect friends.  I exaggerated them in my mind.  They were the best friends they could be.  There would be millions of them waiting on the other side of the window.

But now I realize that they are the best friends that they could be.  They are perfect in a smaller way.  They do the small things, and that is all that matters.  So maybe, finally I can get that picture out of my head.  Because I know, that if I came home now, somebody would be at the opposite side of the window.

Is it wrong for me to be friends with someone who lets herself out there.  She lets her dignity and her life be trampled on by other people.  It is wrong, and I know it.  She lets what other people say make her do something.  She lets the words of others bring her down.  But then again, so do I.

I sit in Math class, not paying attention.  I let some stuck up girls comment make me sad.  I let myself judge other people for who they hang out with, their clothes, and how they look at me.  I bet that other people judge me too.  They stare at me and say, “god, Ali is such a bitch, the way she always seems like she is so much better than everyone else.  She isn’t even that smart.”  I don’t know what they say, or even if they say anything at all.  They might just pass me by, without ever noticing if I exist.  Do you think that is possible?  Can I go to a school for three years, and people in my class still not know my name.

It is, because a guy I was sitting next to for three weeks asked my name, and another kid who I have been in five classes with over the last three years called me Aili.   In the movies little kids always say “I bet he doesn’t even know I exist”.  I have always laughed at them, of course they know you exist, their in your class, how could you not know your name?  But still, it is possible.  I have always liked guys that I am friends with, so it has never been a problem for me.

The people who everybody know are so outgoing.  Or mainly, annoying.  They laugh way too loudly at inappropriate jokes in the hallways.  They “accidentally” push you over in the hallways.  They set stink bombs off.  They get busted for having pot at school.  I don’t want to be like them.  I want to be me, and be noticed.  But maybe it doesn’t matter what other people think, maybe it just matters what I think.


I have this thing for chocolate.  I am sure that you can understand.  It is an intense craving, and it is does not, come once a month as urban legend has you believe, it ones almost every day, at about give or take, any time of the day.  In other words, I am always craving chocolate.  I walk past the bakery, and see the croissants and want it.  I walk past the grocery store and can imagine the bliss that the recess peanut butter cups would bring me, but the worst is when I reach for the peanut butter, and my hand slide helplessly above the chocolate.

It is excruciating.  And i do it all the time.  I was getting vitamins, and I could see the chocolates. I love them so much.  Just like i love the way bread feels in your throat.  It feels warm and filling.  I love bread.  I love freshly baked breads.  I love making breads, especially chalah.  Chalah is a jewish bread that we make.  It is fluffy and warm and sweet. I love it.  But mostly I love chocolate.

I can feel the taste of it on my tongue. It tastes like its deep brown color, leaving you in absolute bliss, with only a little bit of a hint of craving.  I never let myself give into the chocolate, because if I take one bite, then I take another and another and another.  If you gave me a pound of chocolate to eat all at once I would eat it.

But right now I need to get a few small pieces of happiness out of the fridge.  But I won’t, because a small piece will turn int plural, and then the size will increase and increase until there is none left, so I will pass my hand over the tempting brown goodness, and head straight for the vitamins.