So I feel like before I begin ranting, maybe I should start with a preamble of what I hope to achieve by the end of this.
So what do I even mean when I say “that girl?”
I define ‘that girl’ who walks without a care in the world, and yet leaves a trails of broken hearts in her path as she treads across. The one who has hair brighter than the sun, and yet has a heart that teaches her to forget about the boy, and laugh like there’s no tomorrow. The cool girl. The girl who doesn’t feel the need to be defined by a boy or by the number of texts he is or isn’t sending. The girl who packs her bags and goes on an impromptu roadtrip with her girlfriends. The girl who doesn’t give a f**k about how her hair looks, and yet she is the one that everyone is drawn towards in the room. This girl. The one who is carefree, and truly independent. The one who laughs without inhibition. The one who is always admired, and doesn’t even notice. The one who has legs as long as stitls and accentuates them further with her thigh high booties. The one who can hold her alcohol, and still look cute when she doesn’t.
This is the girl that I am not.
Going through 22 years of life have taught me some things that are certain. I’ll never be the cool girl. I’ll always have one too many curly fries. I will always fluctuate between chubby and curvy- ish. On my best day, I will still trip over my own feet, and still aim to walk everywhere in those nude pumps I can barely squeeze myself into. I am perpetually single. As much as I convince myself and everyone surrounding me that I am dark and twisty, and it is easier to go through life this way; I beam brighter than the sun on the inside.
I will always pretend to take part in important conversations concerning world affairs, but secretly I’m happier watching an episode of “Friends” and talking about who Taylor Swift broke up with that week. I like to think that I am a voracious reader, and I aim to prove this till the day I die, but instead most of the nights I end up wasting time trying to find something to watch on Netflix. I like to be chased and at the same time not to be chased. I am the ghoster and the ghostee. I believe that if too many things are going the right way, then something will indeed go wrong. My exterior confidence is something that nobody can surpass or doubt for a minute, but on the inside I’m the same volatile, insecure little girl just like everybody else. I’m unique – just as you are. I’m pretentious – just as they are.
I fight fiercely for women’s rights, and yet I do nothing to act upon it. I aim to make everybody laugh, and wait for the day where somebody makes me laugh. I dream too many dreams. I dream dreams before they begin. I am the one who hates society, and their stupid norms and yet find myself conforming to it. I want to be different, but I stay the same. I tell everyone around me that they can be independent and fierce, and I don’t take my own advice. I am straight- forward, and at the same time I hide behind invisible bars. I tell myself never to get my hopes up, but can’t help myself five minutes later. I am fearless, and yet I fear everything. I want to be loved, but I don’t know how to love. My heart is full of hope, but I don’t want it to get broken so I pretend I don’t have one. I am the cool girl for five minutes, and then I melt into my true self.
I am a skeptic, waiting silently around the corner for things to go wrong and yet my heart secretly beats faster hoping it miraculously turns around. I’m not the cool girl who will reply to ￼you ten hours later. I suck at playing the game. I am the girl who clutches her phone beside her, trying to intercept the airwaves and waits endlessly for the message that never comes. I am the girl who tells herself to pick herself up, and finds herself on the ground not less than a minute later.
I care too much, so I pretend that I don’t care at all. I hate hiding behind masks, and I am who is covered behind all the mascara. I am the queen of the land called passive aggressiva. I want more attention, but I promise you I am not crazy. I strive first and foremost to protect myself, and ironically let myself get hurt the most. I teach others how to communicate, and yet this art is lost on me. I proudly say that I am dead inside, but instead I am just a quivering mass of emotional volatility. I say it’s easier to be cold than to feel, and yet I can only perfect the latter. I am the most secure and the most insecure person.
I am me.