You Found Me - The Fray
The days were sunny and bright—
the times of castles in sandboxes, being dressed by mommies, running free and wild in the realm of imagination.
The times when everything was possible and everything was merry.
Everything was sampled and no judging was done;
those were the days which would shape who we were to become.
A flurry of sports, arts, and musics were undertaken—
to see in which we were prodigy.
The adventure of this important year: clogging.
Then, was when we met.
Her with the contagious smile, curly afro of Asian hair, the gregarious personality of a golden
sunflower;
Me, the shy little girl with big, searching eyes, curious like a cat and quiet like a mouse.
Then, was when our paths crossed for the first time.
Then, was the first encounter and not nearly the last.
Through the years, we saw each other time and time again—
once more, lives intersecting en route a talent search:
this time, mastering the delicate art of striking tunes on keys black and white.
Then, that time, was when the final endeavor did fate seal our paths to intertwine:
Side-by-side, determinedly conquering the eccentric wails of the oboe,
for seven years together we would sit.
Together we were—laughing, crying, fuming, comforting, sharing.
Bonding through music; bonding for life.
Merging.
closer and closer
to becoming
best friends.
Closer and closer,
to becoming
One.
And there we were, fates crossed by stars.
My personality blossoming through her enthusiasm;
me, balancing her close companion named melodrama.
We did everything together:
eventually we spoke the same, we thought the same.
We were the same.
-The Asians.
---Two peas in a pod.
----------The package deal.
---------------Joined at the hip girls.
Real words not needed;
Sentences completed themselves.
Full conversations spoken with no speech.
Shifting eyes bringing dangerous outbursts of laughter,
a language tacit between only two.
Anything told to one was understood to be told to both.
Both naïve’. Both so innocent.
I was she and she was me.
Our paths had coalesced;
together, we strode down the same road.
Through the years,
through extravagant birthdays, countless moments of hilarity and sheer joy,
through first heartbreaks, family fights, cancer fights.
Together, we strode, until…
Until one day, that time came.
That moment, that crossroad.
There we stood at the edge of a forest—
Axes in hand, armed with the ability to carve out our paths.
There we stood, so unsure.
Unsure of what was to come, unsure of what to make of it.
Unsure of who we were supposed to become.
Unsure about the future.
Do we forge a path together?
Two heads are better than one, they always say.
Or do we become our own axmen?
—slowly etching our separate courses into the storybook of humanity…
……
Here I stand,
Alone.
Alone, I lay broken.
Alone, I struggle to even lift the ax.
Alone, I have no confidence.
Alone, I am no one.
The thicket and weeds are taking over.
They threaten to strap me down forever;
I can’t escape this.
No phone call on this first birthday away—
Heartaches from empty promises.
Who was she? An illusion, a wild figment of my imagination?
Who was I?
Who am I?
Confused.
Scared.
Abandoned.
Desperate.
Homeless.
Aimless.
Exhausted, of creeping along so slowly…
……
Up ahead, I see someone!
Enthusiastically hacking, chopping away,
Creating a path.
Who is this girl?
A former innocent, all grown up.
“What the fuuu…”what did she just say?!
And a boy alongside, his arms, lips,
permanently attached,
to my other half.
A changed half.
Now, I’m a different half.
An unmatching half?!
Distresses deluge: the jigsaws might not fit.
Still best friends, but one no longer.
This thought sickens me:
I
run,
run, (these "runs" are supposed to be stair stepping)
run.
Fast.
Frantic.
Far.
Away.
To get away from the reality of being
nothing like her.
My mind booms:
What happened back there?
I don’t know, I scream.
But I do: I can’t bear to admit;
I know now—
I am not she, and she is not me.
I pace in futile circles,
Treading into the ground,
Into me:
I am not she, and she is not me.
I am not she, and she is not me.
I am not she, and she is not me. ("not she, and she is not" is supposed to be struck through)
Me.
I am me.
And I have been all along.
I have never been anyone other than me.
She is a dear part of me.
We are interconnected,
but we are not one and the same.
Me and her.
Her and me.
—not synonyms.
I am my own.
I have my own path.
The laden axe fatigues me less and less.
Determined confidence lifts a former burden.
Carve, carve, carve.
Create, create, create.
Dream, devise, shape.
……
And hullo there! Come, we meet again—
Best friend!!! she squeals.
This time, a connection:
A reconnection.
Once again,
laughing, dancing, dreaming.
A new version of old times.
And once again, also,
Comes the eve of goodbyes.
On this occassion, a searching reappraisal of each other.
I’ve missed you so much, I tell her;
I’ve missed you too,
it’s so great to see you—you’re exactly the same! gleefully, exclaims she.
Thus, we separate, in the moment of nostalgia;
back to our own paths, yet surely to meet again.
……
On the way back, I reflect upon those echoing words:
“You’re exactly the same!”
Exactly the same? I mourn.
All this chopping and shearing done for nothing…
No, no, this can’t be true!
But after a survey in the mirror, it does appear so:
I look the same, I speak the same.
I think the same, I act the same.
There is no indication of growth or transformation,
No calamitous, abrupt difference, as with everyone else.
So sad, so sad…now was the time for change!
......
Back to work, here I go,
on this fruitless, meaningless journey.
Mindlessly hacking away, at everything I see.
Ah, here is a huge tree,
Too big for me; I can’t do it.
What am I to do?—I must do something.
Well, it is a beautiful tree; I want to do the least damage.
Anyways, I should be saving the forest, not cutting it down.
As I deliberate and think these thoughts,
I suddenly become aware.
Aware that I am now aware.
One year ago, would I have been so mindful of the tree?
Would I have been so determined?
The answer is no, because the truth is yes:
I have changed!
Slowly yet surely, I am sculpting who I am.
The spinning base is the same, I am just subtly chiseling away.
I am the same, I am not the same.
I am different, I am not different.
The big forest is the same, I am just paving a little path.
Today, standing on the stone I placed yesterday, I place the footpath for tomorrow.
I am a fusion of the past, present, and future.
A fusion of all the words I have heard, all the sights I have seen, all the people I have met;
I am a representative of everything that I have learned from the world, of everything I love.
But I do not become everything that I love:
I am not the color green;
I am not a star, black hole or supernova;
I am not the essence of music;
I am not my dysfunctional family;
I am not my best friend.
However, I am a conglomeration—a union of all of these.
I can pick and choose among the qualities of each,
Whichever ones I wish to unify and hammer into “me.”
And the thing is, there will never be,
A single me.
The idea of me can be captured,
At any moment, at any time;
But for the rest of eternity,
I am continually changing.
Shearing.
Sculpting.
I am a continuum of new thoughts, new ideas—the only constant is change.
This is me.
And though I’ve tried to describe it with words,
It is impossible to tell you who I am.
Because I do not know, myself.
All I know is that I will happily be here in the forest.
The once daunting wild thicket,
now a forest of opportunities—a grove of possibilities.
A chance to transform, a chance to grow into myself.
I will be here in the forest,
Forever working
Not in unison, but in harmony with my best friend.
Working to create the beautiful design of her and me—
Us.
Word count: 1410
so, the formatting is a little off in the lines/spacing and stuff
pictures are coming!
oh, and my punctuation is a mess..have fun! :)
No comments:
Post a Comment