Signed, Me

An Introduction: Plastic

It's strange to see something and everyone react to something and not knowing what to do.

You just stand there quietly, mind wondering what exactly you should do until you decide to copy everyone else. That's when you grow a little bit of plastic.

I'm sure that I have a lot of plastic. Over 50%. No one asks about it, though. Your plastic is a very private matter. After all, when you learn about someone, you ask things like what their age is, their job, their family. You never hear someone ask about your feelings until well after the first meeting.

I'm certain I never. If I had, I'm sure it'd caught my attention and I would've remembered it.

It seems that some people are completely organic. They might be sad, but they haven't lost feelings at least. Carly says she cries at least once a week and how she's pathetic at times. I tell her that it's just the body's way of coping. She then will thank me for reasons unknown.

What I do know is that feelings hurt. They've got high rewards and high risks. A double edged sword if you will.

It'd be nice to learn how to use a sword properly. Mom, that is, Mother, says I should use the time to learn about emotions instead. She also insists on calling her Mom instead of Mother. Mother, Mom claims it's to feel a closer connection.

I don't see why that is to change with a shortening of a word. Perhaps it's just part of a secret language that people have encoded into themselves, but they skipped over me. I wonder how many times they've done that. Perhaps they'd understand what's going on. Or maybe they're locked out just like I am.

So perhaps, instead of the fresh, natural plants that grow for other people, I and others have a large garden of stiff, polyester leaves on plastic stems, of faked emotions that don't exactly look right, but pass off as fine if you only glance at it.

I'm sure someone will read this and scoff at it. Emotions, I must remind you, are different for everyone and vary greatly, despite how they are chemical reactions in your brain.

Maia claims this as me being a robot when I told her my opinions. She knows much about emotions. I knew this was meant as a teasing comment at the time, but perhaps this is true.

Robots are made of plastic, after all.

Out of her several teachings on the subject, if there's one thing I absolutely know, it'd be that emotions are strange things. Made of chemical reactions in the brain, they dictate over almost all our actions rather than logic. I do not understand this, but I probably never will, sadly.

People say I'm smart, but not that wise when I say this.

People say I should also try to figure these finicky emotions out myself. Thus, the purpose of this journal.

I hope that this creates some sort of understanding between my emotions and myself.

Signed,
Me (No point in putting my actual name, is there?)

Books to read: The Little Prince