Musings of a 16-year old

Chapter 3: Lost

5th Entry: Lost

I had a bad day today Diary,  I think I will continue my story of the past to forget my troubles.

Last time I wrote about this topic, Anna had just saw through my disguise and I had felt a weird feeling.

Well, that was the first of my many good days.

I wanted to understand her, understand how could someone that was a stranger see through what my parents were so blind to.

So, I became her friend.

At first, it was just a cordial relationship, where we would just discuss about what homework there was and how to do it. We were nerds after all and we took pleasure in doing homework.

But after a while, our relationship became better. We started gossiping, talking about the shitty teachers we had, and talking about how bad our school was.

However, one response stuck in my mind after all this while.

"Anna, you have so many opinions. Screwed up teachers like Mr James, terrible parents like yours truly, but how about an opinion about our classmates?"

Her mood went downhill.

She stared at me coldly.

"Classmates? They are so fake. All they care about is what people perceive them to be, not who they really want to be. All they think about is the movies they are going to watch, the new gossip of the day, the superficial things. They never look at the big picture."

"Like you."

I felt angered and ashamed. I was pissed at her for calling me fake after being her friend for all this time, but I instantly felt ashamed when I realized how true the things she said were.

I was fake.

I made that fake persona so I could fit in. I talked about the new "ships" we had in class, became the new rebellious joker, all of it to be part of them.

Them. The people who's names and personalities are anonymous to me, and all I could do was group them under a secretive "them".

Who was this "them"? At that time, I thought they were the ones who decided my fate in school, how popular a student was. Now, I still don't really know who they really are.

Who am I?

A tear of shame fell down my cheeks. As I started to devolve into a pool of crying tears, she touched my hand.

A spark of electricity flowed from her hand to me. I blushed in response to the touch, the sudden warmth of her hand. As I looked at her, her cold gaze changed into one I couldn't describe. It was one of anger definitely, warmth and an emotion I couldn't describe. If I could describe it as a 16-year old, it would be primary school love.

Her azure gaze, the sun shining onto her luscious hair, turning it momentarily red.

At that moment, she looked like an angel.

"I don't mean it badly. You looked like the past me, someone who wore a disguise to blend in, to protect himself."

She grasped both hands now, and her gaze was more focused than ever.

"You ain't them. You will never be one of them. That can be seen as a blessing or a disguise. It's up to you to see which is it. "

I couldn't sleep that day, pondering about what she said to me.

More importantly, the main thought that clouded my mind.

Is this love?