Life as I see it

I Am Made Of Words

Classification: PN

Prompt: College Essay assignment

     I remember when I was in elementary school. It was an international school with both an English Program, and a French Immersion Program. I was in the French Immersion. The two groups were kept almost completely separate, only coming together in classes such as art, music and gym, as well as during lunch and recess. I was not popular. In fact I was the outcast, the weird kid, the one no one really wanted to hang out with or be around. I only had two friends. They were not in the French immersion, so I only saw them during recess and during one class a day. That meant that I was constantly surrounded by people who did not like me. They made fun of me, they called me names and purposefully ostracized me.

     I never really realized how lonely I was. I never even realized that they were trying to hurt me. In fact I only realized how lonely I was now.

     I did not feel like I was alone because I had my escape: books. I remember how I would read all the time. We were not allowed to read books in English in my regular classroom so I read mostly in French, although I still snuck English books in with me. I remember reading the dictionary for fun, and sitting in the library reading Greek myths. In fact I read them so often that it kickstarted my desire to be an archaeologist. I read books all the time, and because of this, I never really felt alone. They threw their words like knives, but my books shielded me from their attacks. 

In class when no one wanted to partner up with me I would do the work on my own and then pull out my Harry Potter or Percy Jackson book and begin reading (or rereading). I felt like I was a part of something greater. I was sucked in to the point where I could see the characters and hear their voices. I would watch as Harry flew around on his broomstick chasing after the little golden snitch, the blinding green light of the killing curse, the glint of Celestial Bronze swords. I could hear Hermione chastising Ron. I could feel what they felt. I could hear their thoughts, and so I felt like I was a part of their journey. 

Harry and Percy were outcasts like me, but eventually they made good friends and had amazing adventures. Sometimes I'd wonder if it could happen to me, although realistically I knew that I wouldn't get a letter for Hogwarts or meet a satyr and be brought to Camp Half Blood. 

I was included in their conversations, I knew secrets they held close, I knew what they were thinking and it helped me, by making me feel like I was a part of something if only briefly, I didn't feel alone in those moments.

     Eventually I began writing my own stories. I began writing when I was in the fifth grade. The blank page is the beginning of a story, a story with magic, and superheroes, and creatures, and light and darkness and love and hate and everything that makes the story real. I would take out a notebook and begin my own tales of magic and monsters and heroes. 

I wrote mainly in English, which did get me in trouble when I was in my immersion classes. I would stare at the blank page. Whenever I was left out, I would tell stories in my head. It made me happy, and it made me feel less alone. 

From stories I progressed to poems. I wrote my first poem that was not an assignment in the eighth grade. I would write about my feelings and the things around me. I eventually began adding music to my poems, composing songs, and writing their piano accompaniment. It was how I dealt with my emotions, especially when it felt like no one was listening. It had become more natural for me to write down my feelings than saying them out loud.

     Actually looking back, all my stories show my subconscious knowledge that I was lonely, and had few friends. It showed my desire and hope that everything would be alright and that I wouldn't be alone forever. 

 Even when I did finally become part of a large group of friends in sixth grade, my subconscious fear of being alone again prompted me to continue writing stories such as that. And although I have many friends now, a rather large group, I still find myself reading, escaping the sometimes overwhelming number of people, that I still am not quite used to having around, into the universes of magic.

     My writing became almost everything that I am. In other words it became my voice, my thoughts, my emotions. 

     When I was suffering from depression, feeling as though I was a disappointment to my parents, like I was an outcast, a failure, I would write my poetry, and my songs. It was my way of dealing with and expressing those feelings. I would write about what they had said to me, what I wish they had said and what I wanted to say back but was too afraid to do so. When I was feeling lonely or sad because of one thing or another I would immerse myself in my books, or tell my own stories. 

Words became who I am. They are as much a part of me as my hair color or my eyes. They are ingrained in my DNA. As simple as 2+2=4. Without these words, I would not be me. So next time you are staring at a blank page, getting ready to write something, remember me. And remember how much of an impact your words may or may not have on the people who read it. 

Word Count: 977

# of Pages: 3