3a.m. musings

Now Playing: People Help the People by Birdy (God knows what is hiding in this world of little consequence, behind the tears, inside the lies)

There are the little things that remind you how entitled society feels to present criticisms and pass judgements of every facet of a woman's life; her hair, her clothes, her feelings, her relationships - it's all a neverending soap opera to amuse the masses. Even if you yourself have no claim to fame, your escapades will be embellished and exaggerated and passed like Chinese whispers to entertain the high and mighty. It is known.

My grandmother was married when she was my age. Perhaps it is a sign of my acquiring some wisdom but I have never felt so young, so vulnerable, so unsure and inept; seventeen is so young, yet conveniently thought of as so old by certain people. A seventeen year old bride knows nothing of men, nothing of love, nothing of family or how to keep a relationship alive; a tiny flicker of flame against the mighty monsoons that conspire to blow it into nonexistence. But that doesn't matter. In my grandmother's day teenage girls have to know how to do what has never been taught, know how to say what has never been spoken of, and do what they have never seen done before. In some ways, things haven't changed. I am in the infant years of many relationships and many of them I know are doomed to fail; nobody doubts my love and intentions but anyone with half a brain should doubt my capacity to value a human being as I ought to, and to demand to be valued as I ought to. It doesn't matter. Every blunder, every toe out of line, every squabble and childish tantrum is noted and remarked upon. By who? Who cares? Yes, I talk, but I talk of a friend and not of our friendship; talk all you like about people, but relationships are sacred. A world created by two friends is a world we will never know, and should never know.

I remember, when I was younger, I fell asleep under the sun with my notebook as a pillow. It was quiet and peaceful and we were supposed to be writing, but the sun has always been irresistibly seductive. Now I find it virtually impossible to sleep around strangers; slumber is such a vulnerable, fragile, beautiful state and they say not everyone should see you without clothes, but I think it's more accurate to say that not everyone should see you with your eyes closed. Back then I mistook liking for trusting; if I liked someone I automatically trusted them, which is a mistake I learned not to repeat the hard way. I think it's very disarming, to be around someone when they suddenly decide to settle down for a little nap - it seems innocent, but we have become so distrustful even this simple gesture of unthinking, innocent trust seems questionable. People just don't do that; people always ask me if something's wrong, if I'm quiet, if I don't actively try to connect with people, if I start nodding off. Giving in to instinct, abandoning what makes us feel safe for a state that we perceive as being alien and vulnerable...people don't do that anymore. I don't, anyhow.