Tuesday, 16 December 2008

• Currently Unfold By Marié Digby see related

  I'm 18. Who Gives a Damn?

  Girls my age are always screaming for attention, and begging for the world to look their way.
  
  
  
  Honestly though, who cares what an 18 year old girl thinks about?
  
  I know I don't care. About myself, sure, but others like me? Not really. Why, you may ask, would I not want to delve into the issues of my peers? I'll tell you.
  
  Girls have issues. It's that simple.
  
  Men, friends, and employment call me, and other girls, to devote our time and energy to impressing others with our appearances and personalities. Dressing like sluts for guys while also trying to show off our beauty to other girls isn't easy, and neither is keeping our minimum wage jobs steady. We waste so much time worrying about pleasing others, and never fully mature ourselves until much later, if we ever do at all. Issues, my friends.
  
  We are DRAMATIC, and we obsess over the strangest things.
  
  I've noticed lately that all my friends want to talk about are boys, shopping, make-up, hair, and partying. Examples?
   OK, here you go:
  -Jenny grinned as she giggled about her $300 purchase at a store in the mall, and I gasped in mock surprise, acting as though she did not always spend her entire paycheck on a few pair of jeans.
  
  -She used too much hairspray after work, and her mop looked more like poofy animal than anything else. I went home and tried out the same technique, discovering that I too could go back to the 80s.
  
  
  -Party time! I went to a party I knew I was not comfortable with, just because I knew guys would be there. I promptly left when caught wind of their rancid breath and noticed their huge beer bellies.
  
  -I wore a blouse that cut lower than my swimsuit, just to attract a boy. Who knew that he already had a girlfriend? I was too busy applying $25 foundation to my pores to notice.
  
  I was as shallow as a Marie Calenders pie tin. If you tapped on my head, it would probably rattle.
  
  
  Not anymore.
  
  
  When I am an old wrinkly granny in a rocking chair, flipping through the old photo albums, I want to be proud of the girl I see. Glasses on and white hair whisked off the face, the future me will gaze intently over her youth, remembering some things and inferring others. I want her to see a beautiful woman, sure, and I want her to be able to remember feeling pretty and loved. But those things aren't so important. She needs to see some depth in those hazel eyes, not just a false smile which hopes to attract attention.
  
  So here I am. Take me as you see me, and do not try to change me.
  
  A skinny girl with extremely long eyelashes, chubby fingers and a belly button that should be a little bit lower than it is, who smiles so big you can hardly see her eyes anymore, that's the girl the world is going to see. She's no supermodel, and definitely looks like she wrote a blog entry today before leaving the house instead of doing her hair. You can tell by the smile of accomplishment on her face, and of course the kinky wave that she should have brushed out of her hair.
  
  I am not going to hide my crooked teeth, or worry about how my jeans make my butt look. When I wear a hat, I will do it for fun, and not because a guy likes the sports team on it.
  
  When I write, I will write about things that matter, not just those that affect the little box I've been living in.
  
  The purpose of this Xanga blog is simple: to help me open up about my life and what I think about it, and to help add a greater depth to the way I live.
  
  Please feel free to comment and respond.
  
  ? QUESTION ?:What do you want the older you to see when the remember the you of today? Think about it. Why do you feel this way? I would love to hear your opinion on the matter.
  
  
  ~Breaking the Good China~
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  • 4:30 AM
  • 193 Views
  • 30 eProps
  • 16 Comments
  • email