The Never-ending fight to stay alive in the kiddie pool
Cleaned out my closet at long last, woo hoo! Within the mountain of paper (I swear to god, there's an entire forests' worth of trees in my closet alone, and quite possibly enough to fill a small continent in my room as a whole!), I found a few things I wrote for English back in good old 12th grade. Ah, how the time passes. But I circumlocute (ha!!).
Here's one of the few pieces I'm really proud of. It also got Ms. Sladen's approval too, which was like proudness/egotrip +10.
(On a sidenote. . . Keagan, you suck. After reading - and giggity giggling at - your rants, for some reason the +/- powerups have become somewhat of an abundance. Even if you haven't been making them yourself, I still blame you. And Jake.)
And if you were one of the few who were tagged, it's because you've had a significant impact on me. Like it or not. But I assure you, it was a good type of impact. Excuse the cheesiness, but you actually made me believe in myself. Now go away.
(Kidding. Seriously, feel free to read the whole damn thing if you so desire. Please feel free to giggle along with me at the paragraph comparing my life to a pool.)
And obviously it's no mere coincidence that 99% of the people tagged are guys.
~~~
I remember the time when I saw myself as an ugly little duckling, longing for the day when I would begin the transformation into a beautiful swan. I had this one Barbie doll with beautiful (albeit extremely fake) reddish-brown hair and natural highlights, and I actually envied it. Honest to god, I can say that I was jealous of a plastic doll with synthetic hair. Not only that, but I discovered at a very young age that the world as we know it can be very shallow and unappealing at times.
There was one instance when I was a kid when my mom let me stay up to watch the preliminaries for a minor beauty contest. I don't remember much about it, except for one of the judges and his words. He was some famous basketball player, and his words pierced me like a dagger: "I don't believe that beauty is only skin deep, because it's been my experience that only ugly people say that." Of all the things to say on national television . . . I think that was probably one of the worst mistakes of his career. His words angered my 12-year-old self greatly, and although I still hear that phrase quite often, my annoyance is still always directed towards that one seemingly shallow basketball player. (But then, it makes me wonder. . . what would some multi-million dollar athlete who spends most of his time with a group of sweaty men know about beauty anyways?)
As a kid, I was pretty dang cute, if I do say so myself. . . or that's what I think when I look back at pictures, seeing how I didn't seem to care much about my physical appearance at the tender age of 6. But that all changed sometime in the third grade. My mom made me hack off all my beautiful brown locks. For the class picture that year, I attempted to compensate by wearing one of the prettiest dresses I owned at the time, and posing as cute as I possibly could, although I no doubt looked like a geek. But that was okay back then. No one made fun of you for looking a bit funny. Sure, little kids have a knack for pointing out flaws, but they don't think much of it.
This is where the small age gap of 2 years comes in. It doesn't seem like much, but boy is it ever! I remember being at one of my lowest times back in grade 6, from constant bullying and not feeling as if I belonged with my tight-knit classmates. I was lucky enough to be one of the few unpopular girls in the class, so when I got braces my life turned into a social nightmare. It was honestly one of those typical experiences where you run home and throw yourself onto your bed crying, saying you would rather die than go back to school again. You wouldn't think that 12-year-olds have the ability to be overly cruel, but they're surprisingly vicious. Again, I attempted to compensate, this time by getting my metal mouth adorned with hot pink elastics. But no, all I received for my efforts was more teasing. Apparently the hot pink clashed with the rest of my wardrobe. Go figure. But I wasn't about to give up.
For our 6th grade graduation dinner and dance, my mom made my outfit, which consisted of a really cute (and trendy at the time) top and skirt. My neighbour straightened my glorious once-again long hair (yay!) and did my make up. Finally, a chance to show my crush(es) how pretty I could be . . . or so I'd thought. All the boys, my crush included, thought I looked scary. Later, I'd found out from one of my only male friends that they had all been calling me "Morticia" behind my back all night. That was the last straw for me. I couldn't take anymore of the teasing and harsh remarks. I remember spending that entire weekend begging my parents to withdraw me from public school and home school me themselves. Unfortunately, they couldn't do that, as they both worked full-time and couldn't afford to hire someone. And besides, as my mom merely reassured me, it would get better, that I would forget about all of it.
Yeah. Guess what, mom? I haven't.
When middle school finally arrived, my hopes were somewhat renewed. Maybe now that my school had enlarged and gone from 300 students to almost 1000, I could find someone to like me for who I was on the outside. And sure enough, I met Tyler. He was a modern-day Romeo, even earning the nickname from a friend later on. But I was uninterested in a relationship with him, so we stuck to being friends. . . but not for his lack of trying. But once again, I was back to having people rag on my physical appearance. I suppose the main reason for not pursuing a relationship with him was because he just wasn't one of the popular crowd. Sure, he was well-known, but not neccessarily in a good way most of the time.
During my early teenage years (or struggle, as I prefer to call it), I longed for someone to call me pretty, be it my friends, parents, a really cute guy . . . anyone! But the closest thing I got was compliments on my nearly waist-length hair, which I had allowed to grow after my fiasco in elementary school, swearing never to cut it again. Several boys developed a crush on me, but none of them were what I was looking for.
And this is where I admit my hypocrisy. But in my defense, I only wanted someone physically appealing to prove that I was capable of attracting and being with someone of that stature. Unfortunately, this was proving to be impossible, as it seems that every other person wanted the exact same thing. And I have to admit, there were many an unattractive person at that school.
But enough gallivanting amongst painful memories of the past. The point is, I've managed to stay above the water, and I owe it all to the one person who has taught me not only to love myself for who I am, but has also shown me that looks really aren't everything. Also, however cheesy it is, he's shown me that if you truly love someone, they'll seem like the hottest person in the world. It made me giggle when I added him into this equation consisting of a kiddie pool, and the whirlpool pulling me down, and he ends up as the obnoxiously colored inflatable duck, dolphin, or whathaveyou. There's a song that goes, "The smile on your face lets me know that you need me, there's a truth in your eyes saying you'll never leave me", and I think it represents us perfectly. Since I was a little kid, I've dreamed of that perfect fairytale romance, complete with the prince, and he's come pretty close to those impossibly high standards I'd set.
Unfortunately, every prince has his flaws. In the Disney movies, they only appear off-camera, but surely they appear in the writers' heads as they work on the screenplay, or the animators' heads as they bring the characters to life. Who knows, maybe Cinderella's Prince Charming belches at the most inappropriate times, and maybe Prince Eric has a problem with cussing that he picked up after spending so much time out at sea? Anyway, at the same time, he's a very shallow person as well. No matter where we are, whether it's just out and about together or watching TV, he'll make a comment about some random person's weight or something, only he's not so subtle about it. This irritates me to no end, and I'm sorely tempted to put on about 50 pounds (or, keeping with the metaphor, occasionally let a little air out of him) so he'll shut up about it. After all, I've been called anorexic many a time, so why not experience both ends of the spectrum? I figure that if I can break him of this habit, he'll be absolutely perfect, as he calls me beautiful, pretty, and gorgeous all the time. But despite this small quirk, he's probably as perfect as it's going to get, and he makes up for it by bringing out the best in people without even trying.
In conclusion, I haven't given up on myself. I have come a long, long way even in the past few years. I finally have my handy dandy floatation device, and darn it all if I don't choose to go down swinging. One thing's for sure though, my view on "beauty is only skin deep" has definitely changed. I still don't agree that it's only "ugly people" who say that, but rather, people who have a bit of a problem with their self-esteem. Everyone was born into this world the same way, but it's ultimately up to us to carve out our own path. Eventually, we all come to the shallow pool obstacle, but with the right floatation device, it's easy to clear.
~~~
That was typed word-for-word from the original essay. Since then, I've given up my floatation device, and have grabbed a pool noodle and have just been going around whacking people senseless.
In other words, I've decided to say screw humanity, it sucks hardcore!
In all seriousness though (as I sit here giggling like the humungofreakingdorkasaurus I am...), I'm thinking people are going to read this and agree, finding a way to somehow identify with my carefully chosen words, or think sarcastically to themselves, "Oh hey look, another typical story of how a kid grows up bullied, eventually faced with the choice of rising above it or allowing themself to be hit with stone after stone. . . wow Kayli, grow the flip up. Everyone goes through that crap at some point. You're not as alone as you think you are."
Okay, so that last sentence was part sarcasm, part mocking towards recent issues. But seriously.
What do you think?
Other than my oh-so classic use of dorkasaurus, classically adapted from the English dub of Sailor Moon (hunkasaurus for the uberly-epic win!).
Cleaned out my closet at long last, woo hoo! Within the mountain of paper (I swear to god, there's an entire forests' worth of trees in my closet alone, and quite possibly enough to fill a small continent in my room as a whole!), I found a few things I wrote for English back in good old 12th grade. Ah, how the time passes. But I circumlocute (ha!!).
Here's one of the few pieces I'm really proud of. It also got Ms. Sladen's approval too, which was like proudness/egotrip +10.
(On a sidenote. . . Keagan, you suck. After reading - and giggity giggling at - your rants, for some reason the +/- powerups have become somewhat of an abundance. Even if you haven't been making them yourself, I still blame you. And Jake.)
And if you were one of the few who were tagged, it's because you've had a significant impact on me. Like it or not. But I assure you, it was a good type of impact. Excuse the cheesiness, but you actually made me believe in myself. Now go away.
(Kidding. Seriously, feel free to read the whole damn thing if you so desire. Please feel free to giggle along with me at the paragraph comparing my life to a pool.)
And obviously it's no mere coincidence that 99% of the people tagged are guys.
~~~
I remember the time when I saw myself as an ugly little duckling, longing for the day when I would begin the transformation into a beautiful swan. I had this one Barbie doll with beautiful (albeit extremely fake) reddish-brown hair and natural highlights, and I actually envied it. Honest to god, I can say that I was jealous of a plastic doll with synthetic hair. Not only that, but I discovered at a very young age that the world as we know it can be very shallow and unappealing at times.
There was one instance when I was a kid when my mom let me stay up to watch the preliminaries for a minor beauty contest. I don't remember much about it, except for one of the judges and his words. He was some famous basketball player, and his words pierced me like a dagger: "I don't believe that beauty is only skin deep, because it's been my experience that only ugly people say that." Of all the things to say on national television . . . I think that was probably one of the worst mistakes of his career. His words angered my 12-year-old self greatly, and although I still hear that phrase quite often, my annoyance is still always directed towards that one seemingly shallow basketball player. (But then, it makes me wonder. . . what would some multi-million dollar athlete who spends most of his time with a group of sweaty men know about beauty anyways?)
As a kid, I was pretty dang cute, if I do say so myself. . . or that's what I think when I look back at pictures, seeing how I didn't seem to care much about my physical appearance at the tender age of 6. But that all changed sometime in the third grade. My mom made me hack off all my beautiful brown locks. For the class picture that year, I attempted to compensate by wearing one of the prettiest dresses I owned at the time, and posing as cute as I possibly could, although I no doubt looked like a geek. But that was okay back then. No one made fun of you for looking a bit funny. Sure, little kids have a knack for pointing out flaws, but they don't think much of it.
This is where the small age gap of 2 years comes in. It doesn't seem like much, but boy is it ever! I remember being at one of my lowest times back in grade 6, from constant bullying and not feeling as if I belonged with my tight-knit classmates. I was lucky enough to be one of the few unpopular girls in the class, so when I got braces my life turned into a social nightmare. It was honestly one of those typical experiences where you run home and throw yourself onto your bed crying, saying you would rather die than go back to school again. You wouldn't think that 12-year-olds have the ability to be overly cruel, but they're surprisingly vicious. Again, I attempted to compensate, this time by getting my metal mouth adorned with hot pink elastics. But no, all I received for my efforts was more teasing. Apparently the hot pink clashed with the rest of my wardrobe. Go figure. But I wasn't about to give up.
For our 6th grade graduation dinner and dance, my mom made my outfit, which consisted of a really cute (and trendy at the time) top and skirt. My neighbour straightened my glorious once-again long hair (yay!) and did my make up. Finally, a chance to show my crush(es) how pretty I could be . . . or so I'd thought. All the boys, my crush included, thought I looked scary. Later, I'd found out from one of my only male friends that they had all been calling me "Morticia" behind my back all night. That was the last straw for me. I couldn't take anymore of the teasing and harsh remarks. I remember spending that entire weekend begging my parents to withdraw me from public school and home school me themselves. Unfortunately, they couldn't do that, as they both worked full-time and couldn't afford to hire someone. And besides, as my mom merely reassured me, it would get better, that I would forget about all of it.
Yeah. Guess what, mom? I haven't.
When middle school finally arrived, my hopes were somewhat renewed. Maybe now that my school had enlarged and gone from 300 students to almost 1000, I could find someone to like me for who I was on the outside. And sure enough, I met Tyler. He was a modern-day Romeo, even earning the nickname from a friend later on. But I was uninterested in a relationship with him, so we stuck to being friends. . . but not for his lack of trying. But once again, I was back to having people rag on my physical appearance. I suppose the main reason for not pursuing a relationship with him was because he just wasn't one of the popular crowd. Sure, he was well-known, but not neccessarily in a good way most of the time.
During my early teenage years (or struggle, as I prefer to call it), I longed for someone to call me pretty, be it my friends, parents, a really cute guy . . . anyone! But the closest thing I got was compliments on my nearly waist-length hair, which I had allowed to grow after my fiasco in elementary school, swearing never to cut it again. Several boys developed a crush on me, but none of them were what I was looking for.
And this is where I admit my hypocrisy. But in my defense, I only wanted someone physically appealing to prove that I was capable of attracting and being with someone of that stature. Unfortunately, this was proving to be impossible, as it seems that every other person wanted the exact same thing. And I have to admit, there were many an unattractive person at that school.
But enough gallivanting amongst painful memories of the past. The point is, I've managed to stay above the water, and I owe it all to the one person who has taught me not only to love myself for who I am, but has also shown me that looks really aren't everything. Also, however cheesy it is, he's shown me that if you truly love someone, they'll seem like the hottest person in the world. It made me giggle when I added him into this equation consisting of a kiddie pool, and the whirlpool pulling me down, and he ends up as the obnoxiously colored inflatable duck, dolphin, or whathaveyou. There's a song that goes, "The smile on your face lets me know that you need me, there's a truth in your eyes saying you'll never leave me", and I think it represents us perfectly. Since I was a little kid, I've dreamed of that perfect fairytale romance, complete with the prince, and he's come pretty close to those impossibly high standards I'd set.
Unfortunately, every prince has his flaws. In the Disney movies, they only appear off-camera, but surely they appear in the writers' heads as they work on the screenplay, or the animators' heads as they bring the characters to life. Who knows, maybe Cinderella's Prince Charming belches at the most inappropriate times, and maybe Prince Eric has a problem with cussing that he picked up after spending so much time out at sea? Anyway, at the same time, he's a very shallow person as well. No matter where we are, whether it's just out and about together or watching TV, he'll make a comment about some random person's weight or something, only he's not so subtle about it. This irritates me to no end, and I'm sorely tempted to put on about 50 pounds (or, keeping with the metaphor, occasionally let a little air out of him) so he'll shut up about it. After all, I've been called anorexic many a time, so why not experience both ends of the spectrum? I figure that if I can break him of this habit, he'll be absolutely perfect, as he calls me beautiful, pretty, and gorgeous all the time. But despite this small quirk, he's probably as perfect as it's going to get, and he makes up for it by bringing out the best in people without even trying.
In conclusion, I haven't given up on myself. I have come a long, long way even in the past few years. I finally have my handy dandy floatation device, and darn it all if I don't choose to go down swinging. One thing's for sure though, my view on "beauty is only skin deep" has definitely changed. I still don't agree that it's only "ugly people" who say that, but rather, people who have a bit of a problem with their self-esteem. Everyone was born into this world the same way, but it's ultimately up to us to carve out our own path. Eventually, we all come to the shallow pool obstacle, but with the right floatation device, it's easy to clear.
~~~
That was typed word-for-word from the original essay. Since then, I've given up my floatation device, and have grabbed a pool noodle and have just been going around whacking people senseless.
In other words, I've decided to say screw humanity, it sucks hardcore!
In all seriousness though (as I sit here giggling like the humungofreakingdorkasaurus I am...), I'm thinking people are going to read this and agree, finding a way to somehow identify with my carefully chosen words, or think sarcastically to themselves, "Oh hey look, another typical story of how a kid grows up bullied, eventually faced with the choice of rising above it or allowing themself to be hit with stone after stone. . . wow Kayli, grow the flip up. Everyone goes through that crap at some point. You're not as alone as you think you are."
Okay, so that last sentence was part sarcasm, part mocking towards recent issues. But seriously.
What do you think?
Other than my oh-so classic use of dorkasaurus, classically adapted from the English dub of Sailor Moon (hunkasaurus for the uberly-epic win!).
