This Crazy Feeling

ThisCrazyFeeling.Part5

Finishing my journal entry, I closed the journal and looked at it’s cover. Blue leather with the pages painted purple on the sides of the book so carefully to keep the front and back of each page pure white. The pages were held together with thick strands of purple string that showed beautifully at the binding. I rubbed my fragile fingers on the floral patterned engravements of the leather, thinking back to when I first got my journal.

It was Christmas, my cousin Liliana had given it to me as a gift. She knew how much I loved writing. To any other kid they would have smiled at it and then never write in it, but to just be put on a shelf left to be covered in dust of memories made. However, my eyes lit up like the lights on the Christmas tree when I saw this fine journal. Instead of putting it on my shelf, I stored it away safely where I could go to it everyday to write memories in the making. I remember what Liliana said to me about the journal, like it was yesterday. “This journal is made out of genuine leather. It was handcrafted from leather by artisans employed in traditional craft. The leather is hand tanned in the vilaged of India using primitive techniques, Naomi. Use it wisely, make you’re dreams come true.”

I love Liliana, she was there for me when no one else in the family even bothered to look my way to see my wet eyes. She saved me, by giving me this journal to write all my thoughts and upspoken words down. She told me that I had a gift, that I can do more than just write down words. Liliana said, that I could write down the most vivid images. She could see the pictures go through her head like she was watching a movie when she read my “Stop The Hate” essay two years ago. Sometime’s I second think my dreams. Do I really want the glamour for me? Or was it just a way to keep all my pain away while the lights glistened on the sparkles of my skin. What is my true calling in life? Should I be chasing after a life of luxuries, high heels, makeup, and performing in front of crowds? Or should I have gone a different route…chasing after a life filled with crumpled up paper and notebooks in every cabinet? Sometime’s I wonder who I am, it all confuses me too much. As if I was multiple beings trapped in one body, and one mind.

I heard a knocking at my door, “Naomi? It’s Andres, can I come in?” My eyes went wide as I resumed back into reality to the sound of his voice, recalling the moments of our conversation at Fred Meyer’s this morning. My cheeks flushed bright pink at the thought of him calling me beautiful. “Yes, come in.”, I said. The door opened slightly for him to peek his head in, and then he swung it fully open to walk into my bedroom. Closing the door, he started talking.

"I just wanted to see what’s up. Not much to do around here but watch t.v. or play xbox.", he’s such a typical boy. I laughed softly at my thoughts, "Oh, so you talk to me when you get bored? Ahaha, but nothing. Just finished writing in my journal." His eyes traveled from my face to my journal. He came closer and laid on my bed next to me to check it out. "Woah, this is the most extravagant thing I’ve ever seen. I didn’t know you kept diaries.", he said. "There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Considering that we just met, of course. It’s okay though, there’s a lot I don’t know about myself either. That’s why I write, to find who I am. And it’s so not a diary, it’s a journal! There’s a difference you know!", the words rolled off my tongue so easily. "Well my bad! I think it’s cool that you keep journals, I would never be able to stay so dedicated to it." "I guess, it just takes some passion.", I smiled at him. He smiled back.

Things went quiet for a little bit while we zoned out thinking. Then Andres started to speak again, “Naomi, you confuse me.” I looked at him, struggling at what he meant. “What do you mean?” He stared into my eyes for a long time before answering. “I mean… in the email your mom sent to my parents she said you were here to join Handford’s show choir for the scout coming at the end of the year performance. I’ve seen those show choir girls at school all the time, they’re rotten divas. They think they’re better than everyone else, and they go around school pretending like they already won the fame. But now I’m looking at you and…” I wanted him to finish to badly, but I didn’t say a word. He paused for a very long time, then he opened his mouth again. “And…You don’t seem to be what I observed. You’re actually beautiful, Naomi. You are thick, but shapely. You’re eyes are dark hershey. You’ve got hair of an angel’s, and your lips are perfectly shaped. Besides what’s on the outside, you’re beautiful inside too. I know I don’t know much about you but, I know enough to see that you’re the most down to earth girl I’ve ever met. I mean, you just told me it took passion to write. Most girls say it takes passion to do their eyebrows, whatever that means! I’m lucky I met you.”