I Want to Write

Sometimes I think that the mountains surrounding the valley are like a cage, keeping me from the rest of the world, as though this insignificant town has a hold on me. But then sometimes I wonder if maybe those mountains are protecting me from the great big world out there until I'm ready. I think I'm ready. Am I ready? The more I think about it, though this small town life is all I really know, the more I want to go and see it all. I want to go, leave, travel and never stop. It's not like life here is bad, I have many good things here like friends, but I think sometimes it isn't enough for me. Sometimes I think I want to leave, but I know I need to at least finish school. I'm not ready, not quite done yet.

I'm a good writer. My friends tell me, my teachers tell me. I think I take it for granted, it comes naturally to me and I don't realise that some people have trouble with it.  I understand words. I understand my language. I know how words should flow and where they should stop and what they mean. Words make sense to me. I don't think about my writing, I just let it flow. I like writing. I like constructing sentences and paragraphs and hoping the whole time that they come together and form some rhythmic, powerful structure that people will want to read. I love reading, too. You can learn so much from reading a book, even fiction. To me, a book or a story is like a little passage to a person's mind, their characters are always based on some small part of their own personality. I like to think of my whole life as a story, and sometimes I wish that I could write a story about my life just to see how it would end.

I'm getting older. Eventually I'll be twenty, then thirty, then forty, and the decades will pass and I'll wonder where they've gone. I'm scared of getting old. I don't want to look back in ten or twenty or however many years and just wonder why I didn't leap at opportunities or take the chance while I could. I'm afraid of dying, too. Actually, not so much the dying part as the way I die. I don't want to be in pain, or be afraid when I die. I'm afraid to be so scared that I can't think straight. I don't want to be in a situation like that. I think I'd like to die to save someone's life, like to jump in front of a bullet, but then I wonder if I could actually do it. I don't think I'm brave; try as I might, because lots of things frighten me. I'm scared of spiders and bugs and things with lots of legs. I'm scared of the night and the dark and strangers on the street. I'm scared of failure and things being unorganised.

I don't think I fit in. Not really, not the way other people fit in. They make it seem effortless when I stand there and try so hard to say the right things. Sometimes I think that I must see the world differently to other people, but then I realise it can't be true because I'm not that special. It's nice to think that, though – that I'm special. I want to believe that I'm clever and witty and kind and caring and all those things I would value in other people. But I get so caught up in trying to figure out what values I should have, that I don't realise what values I already have. I know I'm not stupid, I've known that for a long time, but I'm different, somehow. Not many people seem to understand me properly, or maybe I'm just imagining things. I have a good imagination.

I think I think too much. I think all the time, but I don't think I think about the right things. I think about what life would be like if we could travel to a different planet. I wonder where I would go if I could travel in time. I think about different ways to say things and books I've read before. I think about things I want to read and things I want to experience. I don't think about school, or homework or what I'm going to wear tomorrow. I think about things that I think are too deep for even me. I think I like sad things. There's so much power and strength and emotion that we can draw from sad things. Sad things are inspiring, they give us wisdom and knowledge and experience.

Sometimes I take photographs. I really like photography, but I never really think it's as expressive as literature. In a photo people use colours and composition and angles to convey feelings and meanings. I find it hard to get my message through visually. I guess I'm not an arty person. I have arty friends. I'm jealous of their art. They're so talented and the way they can communicate visually makes me wish I could do it too. There are so many things I'd like to draw, but I simply can't. My head and my hands must have a loose connection that makes the message get scrambled on the way out. I don't know, maybe I'm just that way.

I get sad sometimes. I'm not always happy with the way I look; my hair's not right, my nails are too short, these jeans look funny. And sometimes I think that maybe I'm not as talented as I think I am. My friends say otherwise, but sometimes I just can't believe them. Sometimes I just need to cry and get it out of my system. I'm not really a strong person. I get angry easily and lose my temper. I hold grudges and do stupid things. I get impulsive and don't think before I act and speak. I don't say sorry as much as I should and I don't think about other people's feelings. I'm a hypocrite, and I always talk about double standards. I realise only later that it wasn't your fault, and then I can't take things back. Not really.

One day, I'm going to break free. I'm going to pack a bag with my favourite jeans and a singlet. I'll get my hair cut in a new way and then I'll leave. I'll get on a plane and I'll fly far away. I'll write about what I see. I'll take photos. I'll wonder if my photos are any good, and I'll wonder if my words are just right. I'll be indecisive for days and end up making the wrong choice anyway. But it'll be okay because I'll get through it eventually. I'm going to break all connections to my old life. I'll reinvent myself and be happy with the new me. I'll keep writing. I'll find a good book and a place to call my own. I wonder if I'll ever settle for good. I worry that one day I'll wake up and find my life has gone by. I worry that I'll be lonely. I don't want to feel pain or be alone. I don't want to get cold or stern. I want to live my life and fall in love and write.