Vampire Vocab

This is my letter that I wrote to my self for Language arts class, so those of you who want to do the “Letter to your future self” part of my “101 things#4″ post have something to go off of. It’s also kind of funny, in a weird sort of way.

Dear me,

Bonjour! If you don’t know what that means, your/my French has really gone downhill. Anyway, here are a couple of circumstances under which you might be reading this letter. One of which is that you have been struck with a devastating case of amnesia and have to be reminded of who you are, and the other is that you have successfully made it through the school year with little or no brain damage and are reading this in the comfort of your home. Let’s just hope for the latter. Considering your terrible memory and/or amnesia, you probably don’t remember where you were at the beginning of the year. If you do, humor me.

I await next year’s transition to the fabled high school with a bitter-sweet combination of equal parts excitement…and dread. I really wish I could fly off to Neverland and remain a child forever, cradled in the secure embrace of my family, but as vampirism doesn’t seem to be lurking on the horizon to make me forever young, I figure I’ll do what I always do: square my shoulders and try my best to get through this. It’s not failed me yet. Somehow, right now, high school seems a long way off, a dragon’s lair that doesn’t seem real until the dragon is hurling a torrent of flame at you. To anyone else, that analogy would inspire a lot of “Huh?” looks, but you understand. If not, than you’ve changed more than I would like. I’m not too afraid though, because I know that this year will prepare me for the next one, arming me with the tools I need to, if not slay the dragon, domesticate it. Maybe when I’m a sophomore I’ll put a collar on it and call it “Fluffy”.  Right now, though, I will settle for conquering a lesser demon: 8^th grade.

At the beginning of the year, we were told that we should all try to be leaders this year. I raised my hand and asked, “If we’re all leaders, who is going to follow?”. I received the answer that the leaders would follow other leaders, but I didn’t understand at the time. Now I do. After much thought, I realized that, despite all hopes, not everyone was going to be a leader, at least not in everything. Some people might lead their peers in the concept of responsibility: the clever math student who always has her work done excellently and on time, beaming at the teachers praise. Some might lead their peers in compassion: the polite student who always helps his struggling classmates to study for their history test, or stoops to help a stranger pick up her books, even if doing so might make him late for class. Some might lead others in the simple art of having fun, turning learning from a chore to a reward: the kid who initiates an impromptu dance party in music class or the teachers who makes up cute ways to remember formulas (like the reluctant Mr. Maniquis and his heart horizontally cut in half to look like a “m” over “v”. The formula for density, remember?). Some say that 8^th graders have to set an example for their younger counterparts, and, while true, it is often neglected to be mentioned that we can learn a lot from them, too. My sister, Lizzy, though new to middle school, has taken to it with ease, like (yes, I realize the use of one of the forbidden clichés) a fish to water. She makes friends and approaches each day with a stubborn determination that I can’t help but admire, despite how often that same stubbornness is turned against me. Being the oldest doesn’t mean that we are the wisest, or the best, or the only leaders in the school. It only means that we shall have to be more careful to NEVER disregard the opinion of someone younger just because they are younger. THAT would be an indication that we hadn’t learned as much as we were supposed to in our years of school. So, as far as leadership goes, I’ll do what I always do: square my shoulders and try to make it through.

People always ask, “What are you afraid of in 8^th grade?” to which I always cheerfully respond, “Nothing!” and the satiated person wanders off thinking what a brave and/or stupid girl I am. When I say “nothing”, I’m generally lying, like in this case. I am neither brave nor stupid, but I respond in this manner for three reasons. First, if the person is a classmate, they can use my fear against me in the form of gossip. Yikes. Second, if I explained everything I was afraid of, the person would freak out. Double yikes. Third, “afraid” doesn’t cover it at all. Try “terrified”. I am terrified that all my friends will leave me. I am terrified that I will get bad grades. I am terrified that I’ll become invisible, that nobody will notice me. I am terrified that my teachers will hate me. Did I mention my deep-set fear of bad grades? Though none of these fears have any founding, that makes me fear them all the more. So I work extra-hard to keep my friends and get good grades. I act exceptionally weird and wake up a 4 a.m. just so that I can be different. I am polite to my teachers and try to be their friend as well as their student. I try so hard and I’m always making new goals to stretch toward because, if I don’t, I might realize how lonely I really am. I can’t blame anyone else for this, because, after years of putting on a mask of the face I think people want to see, I have secluded my real self too deeply. I have developed a distance with my family and friends which they attribute to my being a teenager, a distance that is only alleviated in rare moments of clarity: in the throes of laughter that sometimes seize us for the strangest reasons, or the unified sadness we all felt when our parents announced we were moving. I am terrified that I’ll lose myself completely, so I make it one of my goals to pull myself out of the shadows and share it with everyone. I just do what I always do: square my shoulders and try to make it through.

I am so excited about both this year and next because they are full of my own personal ambrosia, my own personal food for life: opportunities. Every day is a turning point, every moment a decision. I devour these moments, always with my goals in mind. I delight in moments of triumph: an “A” on a history test, praise from a French teacher, a friend’s birthday. I respect moments of sadness, offering comfort: the death of a beloved pet, a problem wrong on the math homework, a gym uniform lost. Each of these seconds is a treasure, even the sad ones, because they build lives. I don’t look forwards to any one moment, because I can never guess when the perfect one will hit. I just revel in the opportunities that stretch before me like an immense road riddled with obstacles. As I set of into 8^th grade, as I set off into life, I smile down at the road and do what I always do: square my shoulders and try to make it through.

Goals. The recurring and ever-present theme in my life. Goals shape my work, my friendships, my home life, everything. Academic goals are basic: all “A”s on report cards, great teacher reviews. I would expect nothing less of myself. I’m not conceited, I’m not self-absorbed, I just know my capabilities, and to lower my goal, or to not reach my academic goal is just degrading. School is one place where I shine. It’s just like a laundry machine: you only get out what you put in. I give every class my all, and it shows. Academic goals are no problem as long as I keep my head. I plan to achieve this goal by trying my best, every period of every day. That’s all there is to it. My only extra-curricular activity, besides reading, are my drama classes at Piven. Yes, I know I’m dramatic enough, but they’re fun and I might want to be a professional actress someday. I have been invited to join the Piven performance project for 7^th, 8^th and 9^th graders who have shown excellence in their work. This is a lot more serious than my normal classes: the audience isn’t just parents obligated to come to their child’s performance, it’s adults who pay for tickets and expect a good show. My goal is to give it to them. I’ll practice my lines excessively; give my best in class, whatever it takes to reach my goal. Personal goals…well, those are hard. I really want to keep all my friends and make as many new ones as possible, but it’s hard! It’s not one of those “try your best and you’ll succeed” things. To make new friends you sometimes have to change yourself, which is a no-no. Supposedly. I’m also told that change is sometimes for the better. Thus, the “supposedly”. How am I supposed to differentiate when there is no rubric, no guidelines for friendship? Very difficult question, right? So, my plan for achieving THAT goal is just this: square your shoulders and try to make it through.

Home is my base, my haven, a place of study and fun, homework and happiness. My parents are divorced (Ahem, I think I’ll know that a year from now, but I’m operating under the assumption that I have amnesia.) but both houses hold love, compassion, kindness, and my genetic ancestors (a.k.a. parents). My goal for home is going to be harder than any other because, as the saying goes, “old habits die hard”. I am used to secluding myself in my room, pouring over my books or computer or listening to music. However relaxing this may be, it’s feeding a growing distance between me and my family. I don’t know how to reach out, bridge the distance, but I’ll do what ever it takes, from creating a hit comedy-action TV show called “Rebecca the Habit Slayer” (like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, except for the chosen one breaks habits, not bones.) to doing push-ups while chanting “I’ve got family, yes I do. I’ve got family, how ‘bout you?!” I hope it doesn’t take any measures that drastic, however. I think I’ll start by just slowly incorporating more family time into my routine, like gradually adding the flour mixture to cake batter. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it. I’ll face the challenge as Buffy does: by squaring my shoulders and doing my best to get through it.

So, I hope that if I/you have amnesia our memory is returning. If not, try re-watching the Buffy seasons. They hold a lot of memories. Good luck, because your success is, to put it lightly, pretty intimately entwined with my own. Also, don’t obsess about your weight, it isn’t healthy.

My devotion as long as I live,

Rebecca (a.k.a. you)

P.S. You may have noticed the excessive use of the phrase “square your shoulders and try to get through it”. Please, future me, do not sneer at my redundancy: it was intentional. In theory.

This entry was posted on Friday, September 4th, 2009 at 8:32 pm and is filed under Books, Life, Ramblings.
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