Dear July

4

10.07.16

Dear July,

Sorry for my absence, I hope you didn't miss me too much. As I sit here writing to you, I wonder what you're thinking about, I wonder what you're doing. But this was never about you, I suppose.

These last few days, I've been ever so busy. I've been writing non stop all day today, desperately trying to get all my assignments in before tomorrow. My winter break has been anything but relaxing.

I've also had my birthday. Yes, my darling July, I'm one of your precious rubies. It doesn't feel very different to be grown up now. I suppose there isn't much difference. People think that growing up is something that happens suddenly. As children, we think that once we reach a certain age we will cross the line between child and adult. But I've learnt that your childhood simply slips away quietly, piece by piece, until one day when you look back, and you realise that you're no longer a child. I don't think you can pinpoint a certain moment where there was a definitive change. I am certainly not a child anymore, but I feel as though I still have a great deal of growing to do. There is still so much for to learn of this world.

Sometimes I am very afraid that I will look back and not recognise myself. Perhaps this is what Holden Caulfield was afraid of as well? He is an interesting character who as plagued my thoughts since I met him last year. The novel itself was not something that I found spectacular, but as a writer, I have come to appreciate something of Salinger's work. It is not necessarily the novel that is important, but more what we can learn from it. Some will no doubt toss it aside, and think not of it for many years. Others will sit and contemplate it until they can draw a definitive conclusion and then store it away for future use. Others still will reflect on it every so often over the course of many years, unraveling it in small portions until they have woven a beautiful tapestry with the many threads they have gathered.

I cannot speak for Salinger, but for myself I say with certainty that I am the person that I write for. I may dedicate my works to others, but it is not for them that the story was written. The dedication is simply a way of recognising how they have inspired me.

I write because I feel the stories within me, bursting to be given life and be told. I have this unquenchable need to tell these stories-they are a part of myself. There are pieces of myself scattered throughout them, and I suppose, if someone were to look long enough, they have the threads to create a reflection of myself. Of course, piecing the puzzle together is another matter entirely.

I have told you a great deal, and indeed very little at the same time, of my writing-perhaps you would enjoy a change of topic now?

As a soon-to-be high school graduate, I hope to leave behind this small-minded seaside town and make it big time in New York City.

I want to pursue writing full time-be it fiction or fact. I love telling stories, whether or not they come from my own mind or from the world around me. I want to be a voice for those who don't have one.

I want to inspire others through language, because I find it so fascinating.

I want to do something more with my life. I have this burning need to see, touch and taste reality-I can never be content with hearing about the second-hand stories of others or seeing the narrow views of movies and television shows. I want to be the one who brings these stories to others. I want to see these things for myself.

I am restless and tired of being in one place for so long.

Art is my release for these feelings. And other feelings too-frustration, anger, sadness, worry, hope, fear, doubt, excitement, exhaustion. I draw and paint in my spare time-which is less often that I would like these days-and have recently become obsessed with calligraphy.

I love listening to music; I don't have a specific genre, I just like music that expresses something with substance, and not this watery stuff they call 'pop'. I have nothing against pop in itself, indeed I listen to a great deal of it, but it needs to have some sort of meaning. It needs to make me feel something. My favourite playlists are by 'alexrainbirdMusic'. You should give them a listen if you ever get bored.

More recently, I've started watching American television shows, mostly due to my friends obsession with them. And of course, I can't turn down a good old Disney flick. (I've always had a thing for happy endings).

I'll let you in on a little secret, darling July. I cry at the end of books. Not because it's happy or sad, but because it's the end. Endings are sad no matter how you look at it, because it means saying goodbye. And I've always hated goodbye.

So this is not goodbye, it is merely:

Until Tomorrow.

E xx