I don’t know why, but a new sense of feeling has come over me. I feel…. kinda free. Like that guy who’s been sentenced to life in prison, then suddenly, he’s found innocent, and he’s free to go. Like taking that first step outside the cell room after all your life you’ve only seen four white walls… and then you breathe the fresh air, and you’re like, “God, it doesn’t smell like shit anymore.” Or perhaps the best way to describe it as if you’re being born, and you’re seeing the light for the first time in your life. And you can start life all over again.
Now, this cell I’ve been stuck in… are my girl problems. You laugh. You say in your head, “What the hell?” You can brush it off as me being silly. I mean, please, it’s just young love, right? Yet, if you’re one of my friends I’ve confided into, you know how badly girl problems affect me. They don’t just affect me; they drive me crazy. It gets stuck in my freaking mind and it never seems to go away.
Girls. Who are they? I don’t know. Society defines them as anyone with female genitals. Biology defines them as anyone with two X-chromosomes. My friends define them as people with long hair and feminine qualities. But me? I don’t know. But I wanna go back in time, and I wanna see if I could find my definition of them. Because there’s something about girls I can’t pinpoint. Something more than just their figure or personality or style. Something…. I can’t seem to get a hold of. But I’ll go back in time… to my first girl.
My first girl. Was my first friend. Was my only friend, back in Baldwin Stocker Elementary School, when I was in first grade. I think everybody else thought I was weird, messed up, and in truth, I was kinda messed up. But she… accepted me for who I was. She loved my weirdness, I’d say. I still remember, every recess, I would go the playground, and we’d always meet under the slides. And then we’d chase each other and play tag, slid down the slides over and over again, talk about childish bs, etc. Then one day, some of my guy classmates taunted me for having a girl friend. Called me messed up. Told me I had cooties. And I remember how she viciously defended me and scared them away. And how she asked me, with a sweet smile, “Are you ok?” But I somehow didn’t see it as love or friendship, what she did for me. I was too immersed in my own shame, too immersed in how my peers viewed me. So I cut her off. I told her sorry, but I don’t want people to think I’m friends with a girl and have cooties and all that shit, and that… we couldn’t be friends no more. And I remembered how she cried, her eyes red, the look of hurt on her face, so painful… and she ran off. Sometimes, I think maybe she could have been the one. Sometimes, I wanna go back to that moment, and say, “Jasmine, I’m sorry. I love you.”
Jasmine became Alina in 3rd grade, when I just transferred to Holly Avenue Elementary. Alina was not beautiful or hot or anything. She wasn’t Asian like me; she was Latino. She probably wouldn’t seem to be my type….but it was her giggle. Whenever I cracked a retarded joke, nobody laughed, she laughed. She was the only one who recognized me. I would always sit next to her in lunch, and we would talk and talk and talk. Then one day I confessed. It was my first confession. And I remember how she just said, “Oh.” And stopped talking to me. And the following week, I never saw her again. Maybe she moved houses, maybe there was a freak accident, I dunno. But I can’t help but think, she probably left cause of me.
From then until the tenth grade, girls became a separate dimension. Yea, I had thoughts, and would occasionally say, oh she’s attractive, or whatnot. But it’s as if I had no feelings then; all I focused on was my schoolwork. All my friends were guys, and all my guy friends only had guy friends. Probably because of this lack of girls I probably didn’t know how to deal with them later on.
Then I met her. Won’t say her name, but I’m grateful for what she did. I was struggling through depression during this time period, and just talking to her picked me back up. But I really didn’t know how to deal with all the feelings, especially since I was mentally unstable during this time. It was just a jumble of emotions going back and forth, kinda like putting shit and crap and piss all into one goddamn blender and mixing the hell out of it, and then chugging down all that disgusting liquid down your throat until you become insane. But let me tell you, she was beautiful. White as the moon. And tall. But the aura she gave was one of brightness as well. Every time she stepped in the room, it was a party. In the end, though, I buckled down and confessed, and she said no, but she still cared for me and wanted to be my friend. But I cut her off, because, well, all of this was just too much for me.
This set the pace for how I dealt with girls from here on out. I was too afraid to fall for a girl, for fear of being rejected, so every time I felt something for a girl, I would try to avoid her. Oftentimes, I would block the girl on Facebook, because just seeing the girl’s picture would drive me insane. At times, I would succeed, and erase the girl from my memory. Oftentimes, I failed, and I would end back up talking to the girl. One girl later on cut me off– first time it ever happened to me– and from then, I began to get more paranoid. I remember I didn’t cry when she cut me off– I just stared at my computer screen for the longest time in my life, thinking, nothing.
What I hated the most, though, was how all my guy friends would pressure me to just go up and get her. And when they see me in a hesitant state, they call me pussy, coward, or some other freaking shit. Why? Just why does one’s manliness depend on a girl? It’s retarded, but I lived by it. I remember how I fucking hated myself after finding out none of the girl liked me. None of the girls even considered maybe. They just said no because I was a freaking ugly worthless piece of shit. Made me feel I was crud and I could just rot in a freaking hole. And I remember that day those thoughts just came up in my mind second after second, relentless self-cussing and self-hatred thrown at myself. Like I committed seppuku, died, revived, did it again, all in a cycle. All cause of a couple of rejections.
That’s why I loved Pitbull. His music was my self-defense mechanism. A friend of mine calls me a pussy for this, but really, I don’t care. Sometimes, when I can’t get a girl, I lie to myself, saying, yea I never really had any emotions for that girl. I never stupidly pushed myself for her, thinking I could get her. All I wanted was the body. And then the music of Pitbull plays in my head, and soon I’m aiming to live the high life, party with the hot girls all day, only for my own entertainment. All lies, but it made me feel better.
But recently, just a week ago, I found out this girl didn’t like me. But, I don’t know what happened, I just didn’t feel anything. Maybe, I just got so tired of how girls pressure my mind, that it sometimes feel as if my head is carrying a bunch of large rocks. Or maybe, I think I realized that I was approaching girls the wrong way, trying to avoid them when I fell for them. But I think it’s because I realized that something’s gotta change. That I gotta stop taking these issues so seriously, and just, go with the flow. But something made me feel refreshed. That’s why I plan on telling it all out to this one girl this coming week, and for the first time in my life, I don’t feel scared. I don’t feel hesitant. I’m ready to let it all go. And even if she says no, I’m not gonna cut her off.
I’ve said this before, and I’ve always broken it. But this time, I feel something that I know it’s for sure. It’s in my gut feeling that after this year, girls will just be girls to me. Just people, not love interests who reject me. And I feel confident that if I like a girl, I won’t be going down that messed up emotional path again. I feel that I can actually start to see a girl I like as simply a friend.
But that feeling I’ll never forget. When that girl smiles at you, laughs, looks at you. And all you can do is smile sheepishly. I love it when her hair flows down her face, and when she starts bubbling excitedly, and when she gives a huge grin that just punctures your heart. I love it when she cries, because she’s so cute when she cries, and when she gets her baby fingers to wipe away her tears. I love the way she walks, the way her body moves, the way she speaks, the way she acts. I love it especially when she turns her attention to me, and makes me feel that I’m something.
So what is a girl? I don’t know still. Maybe I’ll find out when I’m older.