Blogs: They Help You Waddle Your Way Through Hell (I Hope)

Mashed Potatoes- The Surprising Parallel

Let me tell you one small piece of information about myself.

I am a teenager.

Now, at first glance, a word like "teenager" may not seem like much.

You might be thinking, Okay. Great! So fucking what?

But, my fellow awkward aged, perhaps prepubescent, friends, through further analysis, the term "teenager" sets off a canon of preconceptions and perceptions towards an individual categorized under this title.

Teenager.

What's the normal, perhaps established, depiction of a teenager? The nature of one, that is. (*Please note, the use of the word normal, for this will be of crucial importance in further text- that is, if you choose to advance your reading position in this chapter, or book, for reasons I wish to not know. Maybe, you are a teenager yourself and wish to discover your identity throughout the course of this book. Perhaps, you want to hear about the life of a teenager. Mine, that is. I would suppose. This parenthesis is too long, isn't it?)

In one long sentence, I was able to put together a brief definition of how one would commonly characterize a teenager: A part of the general populace, who's mission is to stay as a part of the minority, yet still find a way to be seen as a part of the authority, while being inscrutable, annoying and finding time to be reckless and wreak havoc.

A generic sentence, for a generic term.

Now, do you still remember the long parenthesis just a few paragraphs back which contained the term normal? Yes? Good? Okay.

Normal.

Ah, normal.  

How I despise the term normal.

Because, in plain actuality, nothing is normal.

Great, now I'm sounding normal. Or, at least what people perceive as normal.

But, do you see what I mean? People will always assign an overall picture, idea, to a word. Even I can't say anything which hasn't been said before, without it being seen as boring, common, overused.

The word "teenager" acts the same way.

Everyone will always see teenagers as one thing, when in reality, we are so much more.

We're an entire generation of thinkers, dreamers, and dare I say, quite wonderful people.

Now, not all of use our so called "powers" for good. Trust me, I know a handful of guys who's idea of fun is getting high each weekend and wasted at parties.

My idea of fun: seeing myself read this sentence, because I can in fact imagine my voice, at this very moment, reading the words you are scrolling through. But, you will only be able to hear your own voice whispering this sentence. You, my dear friend, will not be able to hear how wonderful these words sound in the back of my mind.

Well, of course, if you meet me, you will be able to then, of course.

But, if we are thinkers, dreamers, and dare I did say, wonderful individuals, why don't things come easily to us?

Maybe, it is cause we over-think. We dream too much. We see so big.

I think as we grow older, those tendencies fade. The older we become, yes, the wiser we get. Sadly, maybe the more clever we become, the less imaginative we stay.

Oh God, I sound like Aristotle now.

My point was- mashed potatoes. Yes, you don't have to re-read that. I said: mashed potatoes.

I was in the kitchen earlier, talking to my mom (wonderful woman, by the way) who was questioning me on my future plans.

Now, mind you, I am only fifteen. I am turning sixteen very soon.

I stress a lot, as it is. Like, a hell lot.

And after this long-ass, pointless conversation, where to this point -which is about thirty minutes later- I still have no idea to what I'm doing with my life, she responded, "Give me ten minutes, I'm going to make potatoes and we will then continue our talk."

To which I rephrased her and said, "Ah, yes. I'll give you ten minutes to make mashed potatoes, and then we will continue discussing my future, while you place butter into potatoes and I rant about my non-existential career path."

She laughed at that.

I went upstairs and began to think.

Mashed potatoes, quite similarly, are like futures. They seem yummy and warm and amazing as a whole, but once you add the butter and mash, they're broken up until there is nothing to piece together any more.

And maybe my whole rant today was just because I'm hungry.

Who fucking knows?

But, I hope all of you people apart of the general populace, who's mission is to stay as a part of the minority, yet still find a way to be seen as a part of the authority, while being inscrutable, annoying and finding time to be reckless and wreak havoc, are going to leave this chapter with something special learned.

That is that every writer on Wattpad, just like me, tries to be deep and inspirational, but somehow ends up on the super shallow term of mashed potatoes.

Mashed potatoes, also known as, our inevitable, scary futures.

And for those of you who do wish to (please refer back to parentheses) discover your identity throughout the course of this book... You will not.

But, hopefully, you will be able to find an author, and a community of hormone induced, band loving, book writing nerds like me to help you crawl your way through life!

Keep mashing.

Love,

Valery.