I'm who I wanna be

Chapter 1 - The beginning

I absentmindedly flip through the pages of what was once my journal, but is now just a notebook with scribbles all over it and a crumpled cover. I peel off the label and throw it in the trash. My name can still be read. Aloy Shaw. I used to hate my first name, but I have no idea why. Maybe it's because I can't find any celebrity that I'm proud to be named after, or because no one seems to remember it or it ends up misspelled. I've heard hundreds of variations of my own name by now, each one more ridiculous than the others.

I'm thinking how fast my birthday is coming up. Honestly, I'm a little terrified. They say hitting the age of sixteen is special. I wish it was, although I think it's just rumors. There was nothing out of the ordinary for Hale, except that he can finally drive. I doubt he'll pass the license exam, though. I don't imagine him being a good driver. I actually don't picture him as a driver at all.

I put the journal on the bedside table, but a picture falls out of it. I bend over, trying not to get off the bed, because I'd be too lazy to get back up and I'd probably end up on the floor. After countless attempts, I manage to grab a corner of it, then raise it to face level, looking at it intently. It's me in first grade, holding my arm across Jia's shoulders, my then best friend. Even though we had a beautiful and honest friendship and we both enjoyed each other's presence, that didn't stop her from choosing popular people over me right from the beginning of eighth grade, after avoiding me all summer. Since then I stopped trusting telling my friends secrets and little by little, even if I wanted to do that, I had no one left. It would have been different if Jia had had the common sense not to put my whole life on the tray of her new friends, as if I was worth nothing. General school kids tend to be very immature and obnoxious, and I couldn't stand their behavior and their constant need to pester you with questions that you didn't want to answer. For many months they accused me of having some serious brass, because my aunt worked in that place. Jia kept this secret for seven years, but she made sure the whole school found out last fall. I admit that I'm not the most innocent and flawless person out there and that I probably deserved her to end our friendship, but I think the decision to reveal my relationship with the English teacher to the entire school was a little harsh.

This picture takes me back to the past, completely transposing me to the day when everything turned gray for me, turning the rainbow surrounding me into a monotonous cascade of non-colors.

With a smile on my face, I was clutching my books to my chest as if parting with them would cause me a mental pain that I could only compensate by regaining them. A pocket in my schoolbag had broken that day, so I had two options: use a bag or carry the books in my arms. I was waiting patiently in front of my friend's house, as I always used to. It was five minutes until class, and I was still at her door, having rung the doorbell at least ten times and flooding her voicemail with messages. I assumed she was sick and couldn't get out of bed long enough to get on the phone to let me know, but even I knew that was a very illogical explanation since she literally had her cell phone glued to her hand.

Arriving in the school hall, I didn't understand why several people were whispering, glancing at me from time to time. I thought I was being paranoid, but it was actually happening. Then Jia came in with her new friends, making me wonder if my whole life was a simulation or if I was living an absurd dream.

Thus, my colleagues were no more than people I spoke to only when absolutely necessary, such as a project we were involved in or simply when I was asked for a piece of paper or a pen for a test. Besides that, I didn't go out anymore, I focused on learning, I started dozens of TV shows that I'm still waiting the continuation of, and I tried to ignore the void formed by the lack of communication and the monotony that still surrounds me. I wish I didn't feel as useless as I imagine myself to be.

Sometimes, being me feels so... hard. I hate being myself.