May flowers
One:
You’re never always in love even though you always love. That’s the truth. Your heart doesn’t always swell and your feelings don’t always translate into waves of golden glory but that doesn’t mean that whatever matters has suddenly stopped mattering.
I love writing even though I’m not always in love with it. Even though there are days when I feel like I never ever want to write again, even though sometimes I write and the words clumsily tumble out of me, even though I tend to destroy them right away because, sometimes, I hate them so, so much – I know that I will always love it. And in the light of always, the even thoughs barely matter at all.
And this, I suppose, is what real love looks like. It’s a knowledge you’re secure with, even when the feelings don’t follow. It’s an anchor, a cornerstone. It’s nothing less than truth.
Two:
It’s only now – that I’m starting to remember that I was (and have always been) quiet. I used to play with my dolls and stuffed toys alone, in a corner, creating worlds with my mind, and I liked it that way.
But the world doesn’t quite understand the quiet kid in the corner and so we’re often portrayed as less engaged, enigmatic or (no point using euphemisms) boring. So in high school, because I felt I had something to prove, I became loud.
I staged all this roaring noise, let it really pour out of me – loud talking, loud laughter – just so that people would know that I wasn’t at all who they believed me to be. I wanted to show them that I could be vibrant and opinionated and so much more than just the quiet girl who liked to read.
But your real self manifests over time; your real self will always manifest over time. And now, at 15, I am reverting back to who I always was. But (and this is crucial) this time around, I’m embracing my introversion – the part of me I tried to make untrue for so long.
Here’s what Susan Cain has to say about the matter:
It’s different from being shy.
Shyness is about fear of social judgment.
Introversion is more about how do you respond to stimulation, including social stimulation.
So extroverts really crave large amounts of stimulation, whereas introverts feel at their most alive and their most switched-on and their most capable when they’re in quieter, more low-key environments.
Not all the time — these things aren’t absolute — but a lot of the time.
I was always so afraid to be seen as weak (I still am, if I have to be absolutely honest with you) but I never realized – until now – that there is great strength in the quiet. While the people around me brandished their loudness as a weapon, I was harnessing worlds with my mind.
I am still trying to wrap my head around how I could have ever seen that as a weakness in the first place. Quietness is a beautiful strength. And maybe, if you get to know me, and as I myself get to know me better, you’ll find that it’s in the quiet that actually I speak the loudest of all.
Three:
There is something I love about the stories I am currently reading. They all have this part where the author separates the guy and the girl. He puts a mountain of conflict in between the two so that they have no other choice but to journey forward, down individual roads, until they’re eventually reunited again, somewhere towards the end.
I love this part because you can see the tension and the terror rising in their hearts, the uncertainty of ever meeting again and in the separation, you see how each of them grows – how the best of them is born in the distance that divides, when all they’re fueled by is ridiculous scary blind hope.
I don’t know but there’s just something really beautiful about that.
Because we’ve been raised by a culture that tells us that to be alone is fatal. We’re encouraged to press on to people, to cling to them, but sometimes I think that the best way to love people is to learn how to navigate the world by ourselves.
Don’t get me wrong: I do think we need people. I just think we become all the better (like the characters in my story books) by traveling down certain roads alone. I feel that we’ve forgotten (yes, myself included) the value of contemplation and introspection, the beauty of finding who you are, finding who to be, in a place known as solitude – a place that (contrary to what people believe) really isn’t fatal, isn’t fatal at all.
