Battered, With Love

Chapter 1 -- The Superficiality Cycle

"Superficiality means something on the surface. Seek superficial things, gain superficial happiness. You know, superficial happiness. It's there on the outside but on the inside...totally empty." -- Ash

The first day of school is by far the most hypocritical and fake. There are the guys that flounce around campus pretending that they didn’t practice that walk in the mirror twenty million times. There are the girls that look like they tried too hard because their bracelet matches their shoes exactly, which matches their dress exactly, which matches their earrings…exactly. Girls racing into the bathroom every period to plug in their straighteners and curlers to iron away that last-minute frizz, refusing to sit outside because the unforgiving sun could melt the makeup off their faces.

And then there are people like me. People that get sick at the thought of how much superficiality weighs down the mood of the first day of school. And no, I’m not trying to be a snob. Nor am I a loner. But every year, I see this cycle, which makes me lose complete interest in the social aspect of school.

Because who really attends the first day to learn? What is there to learn? Just boring rules and regulations, and what teachers give twice-a-semester bathroom passes and what teachers think that asking to go the bathroom is a bigger sin than adultery.

The days leading up to the first day of senior year were the reason that my phone’s text message inbox was full in just two days, clogged with text messages from frantic friends asking what I was going to wear for the first day.

I was kind of depressed, I’ll admit that. The first day of senior year was kind of like the end to a twelve year tradition of organizing backpacks and folders and the traditional back-to-school shopping experience.

But that thought wasn’t enough to make me stand in front of my closet for an hour, trying to decide what outfit looked best. The reason the superficiality cycle of high school sickens me is partly because I was sucked into that cycle too, from fifth to tenth grade. But I gave up caring so much, and started living for myself. What a freaking liberation.

“What are you going to wear on Monday?” My father asked me that Sunday afternoon.

I looked up from hurriedly scrawling down some coherent sentences for an English essay assigned four months ago. Procrastination at it’s finest, I tell you.

“I don’t know. I’ll just wear one of the things I bought with Rida.” I had responded. He nodded and I rushed to finish the essay without looking like I had done a half-assed job.

I slept at two o’clock in the morning that night. Procrastination is a major screw-over.

When I wake up three and a half hours later, I head to the bathroom first, to wash up for prayer. I head over to my small closet, looking for something to wear. I settle for pale pink skinny jeans and a denim jacket. I clip back a chunk of hair and pray to God for guidance and peace within my heart.

‘The beautiful one to grow in peace and love with God’—the meaning of my name, Eiliyah. Everything I’m asking God for—for me to live up to the meaning of my name.

As I walk to the bus stop with my brother Harun, I ponder how amazing it is that a phrase in one language can convey the same message in one word of another language.

“Yo.” Christian, my friend, nods at me. He waves a little awkwardly at Harun. He’s economical with his words, especially in the morning. Who wouldn’t be? The sun’s not even out yet.

“Hey.” I respond. Harun holds up a hand in greeting. We all wait in silence, under the dim streetlight, surrounded by wet grass. The bus chugs up the road, and we get on, taking our respective seats; me in the back next to Harun, Christian in the middle. Everyone has bright white headphones in their ears; I sit quietly, Harun breathing peacefully next to me, just as quiet.