So I'm moving to California.
For those of you who have never moved or cleaned out your room, I think I should inform you now that it is not fun. You have to form five piles (no more, no less) in order to successfully get through this without committing suicide.
Pile One: Trash.Tiny pieces of plastic that have been laying around your room (maybe you forgot to pick it up one day or someone else dropped it or you placed it there hoping an infant or dog (that you don't like) may stumble upon it and choke to death), broken objects, ripped clothing, old make-up, and anything else you just could not part with before but now can't bare to look at.
Pile Two: Recycling
Paper. Cardboard.
Pile Three: Memories you can't take but can't part with.
Toys, old drawings, tests, report cards, pictures, and more.
Pile four: Give away.
Old clothes, toys, games, and other junk you no longer want but is still in good enough condition for others.
Pile five: Things you are going to take.
Nice clothes, a blanket perhaps, a few pictures and other stuff.
Anyways. For the past few weeks I have been slowly going through my room and creating these piles.... And in doing so I have found some things that I thought I should share with you. All of the following things were found under my desk, because apparently when I was little I thought it was important to keep ever single piece of paper NO MATTER WHAT WAS WRITTEN ON IT! And I stored all of those items under my desk because apparently there was no where else... Like I have said many times before, I. Am. A. Strange. Person.
Oh where to start.
I guess I'll start with My Friendship Memories Book.
Yes. You heard me correctly My Friendship Memories Book. It is a small book that someone must have gotten me along the way and I just never felt I could part with it.
Now, I only completed about three pages of this book but these three pages reveal so much about me as a young girl.
-Apparently I was 8 feet tall and 8 inches.
.....I had no idea I had shank so much in ten years.
- My least favorite subject was writing (or as I wrote it: riding).
..... And now I'm going to school to study to be a screenwriter.
- My favorite color was pink.
...... Now it's officially yellow. It was green but... I've moved on and hopefully green feels the same way.
- My least favorite month was September.
..... That's stupid. THAT'S WHEN MY BIRTHDAY IS. No one should hate September.
- And my least favorite chore was 'Mooing' or Mowing....... And I think I'm a bad spelled NOW, I was worse then awful back then.
That's pretty much all I got from the book.
Moving on.
I also found a note I wrote to myself about my life. I used to really hate my family and couldn't talk to anyone so I would write letters to a non-existant person (margaret). I think this was the last one. Good Riddens too... You probably all think I'm crazy now.
Again, moving on.
I found a work sheet titled How Much Do You Know? This work sheet asked sixth-grade-me what I thought about HIV and AIDS.
I wish this worksheet came with a packet of information because I would LOVE to know what my teachers were trying to convince me of back then.Why were they even talking to SIXTH graders about this...? They couldn't have waited till ninth grade when we watched a woman push a baby out of her vagina? Seriously?
Anyways....
I aced the worksheet. 10/10. Which is weird because half of the questions I answered "unsure".
However, the best part of this work sheet was the What's Your Opinion section.
There are three questions.
Three options (Agree, Disagree, and unsure).
One: People with HIV/AIDS should be kept away from others.Berlyn's answer: Agree.
Two: People with HIV/AIDS should be treated with respect.
Berlyn's Answer: Unsure.
Three: No one deserves to be sick.
Berlyn's Answer: Agree.
Now, I have to ask.
WHAT THE HELL WERE THESE PEOPLE TEACHING ME THAT MADE ME SO TERRIFIED OF HIV/AIDS THAT I JUST DID NOT WANT TO BE AROUND THEM ANYMORE.
Seriously.
Were they telling me that if I touched the people I would become infected? Were they making HIV/AIDS seem like it could just sneak out of the bushes and infect me?
Maybe I was just retarded. Who knows.
And finally.
I found the speech I wrote and read for fifth grade graduation.I have decided to type it out and share it with all of you. There were three topics. Past, present, and future. I chose present.
Here goes:
Do you remember when you graduated from kindergarten and you felt so good, you would smile for every picture and try to think of good ways to make your day even better? Once you got home you were bummed out because that special day was over. Then you would have to wait till sixth grade to graduate again. Now we don't get as much time at elementary school to stay with the teachers and the staff. Then after today's graduation you will think it as fun but inside you're sad because you leave all your younger friends behind and don't forget your teachers and staff and your past. You know you won't forget your past, but you also know your leaving it behind. You'll always remember your first days at school and the days you met your first friends. You'll try to think of your future and hope you do the 'one is silver and the other's gold trick' trick. If you do, how many friends will you have? Will you choose the right road? Will you do the right things? Will people bully you or will you bully other people? Will you be popular in the future? Ever since that kindergarten graduation you looked back to that day but remember today we're graduating from school, not fifth grade. Lets enjoy our special day. Happy Graduation.
Yeah.
There you go.
That was my Essay.
That I read in front of everyone.
In the fifth grade.
I guess I never noticed until I found this essay that I have a problem.
I have ALWAYS WORRIED ABOUT THE FUTURE MORE THAN THE NEXT PERSON.
I probably came out of the womb wondering when I what my cake was going to look like when I turned one... If I could have talked I would have described to my mother how worried I was that I wouldn't choose the right life choice.
Yeah, I have a problem.
Everytime someone asks me if I'm scared I answer:
"Yes, I mean what if I don't choose the right path?"
I wish I had written down all my memories in a book, this way I could have seen all of the thoughts I had on my life and the future rather that just tidbits of my mind.
I mean. All I have to tell me who I was when I was younger is my mom, these papers, and photographs.
Photographs like this one.
I found this under my desk as well.
It simply shows me, my brother and all my cousins.... They're all smiling. I'm holding a wooden stick and making a face.
Was I thinking that one day I would find this photo and wonder what I was thinking? Probably.
I found others too.
Like this one.
I was much younger in this photo but, well, aren't I adorable? Seriously? I don't know if I was thinking about the future the moments this photo was taken but it could be argued.
I wish I thought about the past as much as I did about what is to come.
I may have had a better relationship with my past and memories.
I wonder if I ever thought my hair would be as short as it is now or ever thought if I would ever desire to dye it blue. Maybe that was what I was thinking about while my mother pulled my hair into pigtails the morning before school.
Maybe I never thought about my hair at all.
Maybe I was spending that morning thinking about wether or not I would ever make friends who liked me for being weird rather than liking me only because I played the same sports as them.
I don't know. I can only tell you people who I was as a child based off of the things found under my desk.
I can only tell you who I was as the eight year old who wrote all of these papers and smiled in all of these pictures.
From what was left under my desk I was a disease-fearing, imaginary friend-writing, future-worrying, girly-girl who liked pink and hated "riding", who was adorable as heck and had shit-tons of curly hair.
But that is only what I can gather from what was underneath my desk.
In reality... Who was I as an eight-year-old?
I guess I'll never fully know.
Maybe I should begin focusing on who I will be as a TWENTY-eight-year-old.
Will my favorite color change? Will I still have the same aspirations? Will I still have some friends?
Will I look back at this blog and wonder what I was like as an eighteen-year-old?
Well regardless of what was or what will be.... I am happy about who I turned out to be.
Yep. Well at least semi- satisfied.
Well.
I'm going to sleep.
I'm going to Hempfest tomorrow... Well today.... And I really don't want to be tired.
I'll start typing shorter blogs soon....
I promise.
-Berlyn
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