Life Lessons

I realize I have changed.

I'm still changing, even until this very moment. For good or bad, I do not know, but I welcome change with open arms simply because I can take a lesson in all that happens for a reason. I guess I'm still like water; I'm unable to retain my 'shape'. People have come and gone and left footprints, some big, some small, some shallow, some deeper than others. I have learned many things, both the hard and easy way for some things, along the way and would like to share some of what I learned.

I've learned not to be too open with people I have just met. But I do believe in the kindness of strangers. I have learned the hard way that 'love' has a different meaning for different people. And that some people are simply heartless no matter what I do. I learned that despite good intentions, you can never make someone change for their own good, so maybe you should save the effort. I learned to be careful where I put my trust in. I learned that those you perceive as good friends are often not all that good and that sometimes surface friends are more sincere and genuine.

I learned to pour all my heart into what I do; it gives better results. I learned that higher expectations equal bigger disappointments, so I try not to get my hopes too high because I do not like feeling disappointed. However, higher expectations push harder at motivation, so it depends on the circumstance. I learned to give up pride in certain things, because sometimes it just makes things worse. I learned that a little (emphasis on a little) jealousy is healthy, in relationships and in life. Like higher expectations, it pushes at motivation; makes me strive harder to be better and achieve bigger goals; and a little goes a long way to show that you care.

I learned that it is easier to forgive and forget; simply because this gets it off the mind quicker and no time is wasted on anger and needless dwellings on the matter. I have learned in many occasions that displayed anger from someone does not mean hatred. Often it means that they still care, enough to get mad at me and show me that I was wrong.

I learned that sweet words often equal to sweet nothings. They are fulfilling, satisfying at first but they really mean nothing. I learned to be careful with males with sweet words... Actually, scratch that. They are the ones who should be careful with their poetry. I learned how to detect which words are true, which lines are made up.

But most of all, I learned that hopes and dreams are often all that I have. I will not give up on them. So you shouldn't, too.

Twelve Strikes of Midnight; the modern fairytale.

The clock strikes midnight and the world explodes in a show of flashing lights and incredible noise.

Happy New Year.

Fireworks dress the night early morning sky in spectacular blooms and ribbons of exploding colors. All the human mind perceives is the light burned across their vision, and not the smokescreen in the background. All we can think about is how beautiful it is to be standing here, on top of the world, gazing out at a heaven that celebrates another year of human existence. We don't think about how we've basically traded off our hard-earned money for a compound of ammonium perchlorate, sulfur, and potassium nitrate. And, surprise! we're more than happy to blow it up to pieces. The result is a thunderous clap of sound, plumes of smoke--transparent against the dark sky, and a shower of sparkling lights; inspiring a brief moment of kaleidoscopic joy.

We only think about how marvelous it is; this parade of lights. We don't think about how poor confused birds drop dead out of the sky and lose their way in this hellish forest of light exploding from inside the dangerous smog. We don't think about how their little hearts stutter and stop at the sound of explosions. We don't think about the widening malicious grin in the ozone layer or the smoke slowly settling on our clothes and hair, nesting in our lungs. That's for later; worries and horrors for the morning of January the first.

It's the second strike of midnight. Everyone is sharing a few last toasts of well-wishing for the new year, and a last batch of hugs goes around the room. A few people failed to make it to midnight, and are seated on the sofa and chairs with sticky eyes and slow, sleepy smiles. Just one more, everybody says. I can't, I really can't stay. I have to be up in the morning. Really, everybody else says. The spell strains, cracks.

With each consecutive strike of the clock that follows, people walk languidly out the door and climb into their cars. There is the muted revving of engines as they move away, to the sound of the last few fireworks still lighting the sky. Everywhere there is still the overbearing sight of Happy New Year set in bright decorative neon lights. Gold and metallic-paper trumpets bleat tiredly a few final times. The sound pierces the fog that settles. The only thing is; that's not fog. But at the moment it adds a dreamlike quality to the night, and we wave it away. We will complain of the smell of smoke in the morning.

Ha py New Yea .

The twelfth strike of midnight,and the New Year has already overstayed its welcome. In people's minds is the thought of going back to normal, routine life, and the horrors of this new and alien year. My brain takes a few brief seconds to remind me about an unfinished essay and the last few days I have remaining before I go back to school, and my enthusiasm takes a nosedive.

It is the twelfth strike of midnight and the spell has been broken.

White stallions revert to simple white mice and the carriage is a deflated orange pumpkin in the middle of the road. Cinderella has to run into the forest and hide. Has to go back to the dreaded stepmother's house.

She can always still hope, of course. We can remember the promise of good health and dreams to be achieved in this newly-begun future. We can hold to the hope, and the dream, and pray that in the future the glass shoes will fit again. There will be an occasion to dance to again, even it's only the promise of yet another year.








Happy New Year.