I'm About as Scary as a Marshmallow

Fun fact about Kira: When I get into a confrontational situation, no matter how small, I will (without fail) burst into tears. I don’t know why this happens, and it could be something so insignificant as I don’t want to go to a certain activity with someone, and if they confront me about it and act offended, I will start to cry. This is actually really inconvenient and impractical, most of the time, because sometimes this fun fact means that I may burst into dramatic tears in the middle of a debate in history, if I feel the slightest amount of passion about the subject. While this often does make me win the debate because my opponent often spends his time freaking out about how to stop my crying instead of his argument, it’s also incredibly annoying. I feel like people don’t take me seriously, and I can’t take myself seriously, because anytime I have something important to say, something that I have coherent and well-researched and valid thoughts, I end up breaking down into a puddle of tears, and any credibility I have will go through the window as I’m reduced to an emotional wreck. This aspect of myself is probably due in part to the fact that I had to make myself cry on cue last fall for a show, so it became kind of a Pavlovian kind of deal, where any time I felt any emotion about anything, I trained myself to translate it to sobbing dramatically, and also probably partly the fault of He Who Shall Not Be Named (and yes, he should be compared to Voldemort, because, like Voldemort, he is the incarnation of pure evil).

Because of this fact, and because I’m a little upset right now, and because I’m feeling like being passive-aggressive and not actually dealing with the stuff I’m going through face to face, here goes a little exercise.

                

Dear Dad,

I love you. You know I do. But I’m sorry… right now, I’m not going to trust you with the things that I trust Mom with. You were kind of hurt today when I told her about a decision I was making and didn’t come to you first, you told me that she wouldn’t be able to do anything, since you’re the one here now, and you’re the one that can actually take action. I’m sorry, but I can’t do that right now. Mom has always been the one who’s been here for me, over the last six years. You haven’t been there. I know it partially wasn’t your fault, that you wouldn’t have wanted it that way, but that’s the way it was. I’ve always had Mom here to talk to through middle school and weird body changes and issues and how to put on makeup and what the heck to do when I get my period, and if boys will ever notice me. You weren’t here. Mom was here when we didn’t know where our next meal would come from, and she always made sure it was there. You were across the country. Mom was here when HWSNBN crashed through the house, slamming doors and telling us we were nothing, but she made sure Madison and I knew we were loved and valued and that it wasn’t our fault. You were silenced. And I know that you want to make up for lost time, that you want me to come to you with anything that bothers me or things that I’m wondering about or just plain thinking through. But right now, I’m not going to. Because right now, you’re kind of still a stranger. You’re a very important, special, loved stranger, but a stranger nonetheless, and because you weren’t there, I have trouble trusting anyone that’s not Mom. Because she’s someone who I can rely on, and though I know in my brain that I can trust you, it takes a little while for that information to hit my heart molecules. I just wish you would let me take my time, because I’m not going to be able to open up to you all the way, immediately. I’m not just that way anymore. Believe me, I would give anything to be able to go back to 11 year old me, where I was a lot more likely to tell anyone my story, to blurt my hopes and dreams and fears out to anyone who would listen. I know the person I am today wouldn’t be anything the same without the things I’ve gone through over the past six years, but I wish I wouldn’t have to deal with that wall that I’ve built to protect myself. I’ve tried trusting people, and enough people have let me down that it doesn’t come easy to me. I promise, I’ll get there eventually, and there’s nothing I want more than to feel safe telling you everything, but my wall has kept me safe where you haven’t. And the only person who’s inside the wall is God and Mom. So no, I’m not going to tell you everything right now. I will, eventually. Just give me a little bit. I might just run things by Mom first, because that's how things have always been. Until then, just know that I love you, and I’m so glad I get the chance to get to know you again.

Love,

-k

The Land of What Ifs

Living in the Land of What Ifs is a pretty dangerous choice of making your home, but sometimes I tend to visit there for a short time, just because I find it very intriguing. I shouldn’t stay there too long, because then I forget about how I need to live in the Land of Now, but it’s definitely a place I’ve vacationed more than once.

What if… what if my life was like a sitcom, where you ship different characters and you’ll have one or two episodes where the writer caters to the fans and makes an adorably lovely episode or two where they play with the chemistry and see how the characters react to each other? You and I have our fair share of sitcom moments, walking around together in one of the most romantic places in the world, dancing in a storm verging on a tornado and getting completely drenched, even practically going on dates together where you insisted on paying and I insisted on you NOT paying, and then running up to the cashier to get the check split before you could get out your credit card. What if instead of meeting her, I decided that I didn’t want us to be friends, and entertained the thought of us being something more than just fantastic dino buddies. You told me that if you weren’t dating her, you would probably end up alone because no one else understands you. I didn’t say, but I definitely thought, “I would date you. I understand.” But I don’t live in the Land of What Ifs, and she makes you happy, and us being together would honestly be such a terrible idea. I wouldn’t want to risk the friendship I treasure so much. But still… what if?

What if… What if I made an incredibly destructive mistake? Who would I be? What if I said yes to you instead of being strong in what I felt at that time, and still feel now? We would still be friends. I would maybe be trapped in something that I couldn’t say no to because I said yes the first time. Would I have the strength that I had to build after you showed me that there are very few people I can trust with the painful things of my life? Maybe it would have ended up okay. I mean, if I had said yes, you would still tell me everything, we would still have those late night conversations that lasted until three in the morning, conversations where you made me feel needed, where I talked you out of your anger and distress and felt like I was important to someone beyond anything romantic. Too bad that wasn’t true. If I said yes then, would the fearful, stubborn, independent parts of me always win out like they do now? Would you have dragged me down with you, or would I have inspired you to higher things? Would I be able to depend on others, or would these walls I’ve built because of you still hold fast?

What if… What if I were brave? What if I came right out and told you how I felt, disregarding the fact that you might not feel the same way? What if I knew that the ping pong games and conversations about space cats and British tea meant that you felt the same butterflies that I did when we saw each other, albeit in probably a more manly way? What if I stopped being afraid of rejection and opened myself up to the possibility of being hurt, because the alternative is too beautiful to resist? What if we showed our faces to each other, instead of always taking those silly, wonderful pictures of dogs and blankets and t-shirts? Would you have said yes? Would I be asking these questions now? What if you had said no? Would that have caused even more walls to spring up? What if I had just taken an action, any action?

What if I had…?

-k

Everything is Bittersweet

I'm so tired of being sad. I'm leaving for college in exactly a week, and I've been consistently sad for the past week and a half.
People always ask me, "Kira, why are you so happy all the time?" I think it's a combination of surrounding myself with people who make being happy easy, of having a relationship with God, and of doing things that I enjoy often, but I think the simplest explanation is that I live my life happy because happy is way more fun. I love being in a good mood, and even if I do end up getting upset about something, I can be coaxed out of my funk pretty easily. Because I don't WANT to be upset. I hate being sad. But I especially hate sad things that made me upset for a long time. I'm pretty sure that leaving home and saying goodbye to everything that makes me happy and walking into a situation that has nothing familiar about it can be characterized as an upsetting situation. I've been trying to cheer myself up, but every time I do, something reminds me why I don't want to go.
Like, I just got to talk on the phone today with my best friend for a long time, and that put me in a good mood, but then I remembered that I'm not going to be able to just... meet up with her at her locker to tell her a funny story that happened in class, or spontaneously get together to watch movies and eat pizza. Or, my mom got me ice cream sandwiches a couple of days ago, because I had absentmindedly remarked that I was really craving them, but then I remembered that I'm not going to have times anymore when I get surprised by little thoughtful gifts, because the only person that will really care about me in Colorado for a little while is me, and only me.
Everything I do is bittersweet, and that gets really hard.
I almost feel like I shouldn't try and cheer myself up, even if I could, 'cuz I kind of feel like I'm losing myself, almost. Like, I SHOULD be sad, because I'm losing a whole version of myself who got to chase her friends around the Fine Arts Center after school, a Kira who has a wonderful mom who gives her ice cream sandwiches when she's sad, a version of Kira who only has to worry about talking to her crush (she never will) and looking kind of stupid, but that's okay, because that Kira is clumsy and she makes mistakes and everyone around her loves her so much they hold her up when she falls. I loved being that Kira, and I'm incredibly sorry to see her go. Part of me almost feels like I should mourn her now, while I'm transitioning, because when I get to CO, I won't be able to curl up and cry, since I'll be surrounded by strangers and I have to take care of myself.
Don't get me wrong, I'm so glad I get to go out to Colorado. The practical, logical part of me knows that doing this is the right choice, that I'll grow and mature and have so much fun. I know that the pros of leaving far outweigh the cons. But the cons of leaving are the really painful ones. It may be the intelligent decision to go out to a place where I can pursue a career doing what I love to do, and I'm going to have so many more opportunities that I would encounter staying in my comfort zone, but my emotional side is also totally freaking out because I'm going to have to live without my mommy. I've dealt with a lot of crap in my life, and people have come and gone, and sometimes full out abandoned me, but my mom has always always been there for me, and it completely tears me apart that now I'm going to be the one doing the leaving.
I'm so thankful for being given this chance to work towards what I want to do, but it just hurts. I want to GO, it just really sucks that I have to LEAVE.

-k

So Sexy, I Just Punched that Chair

I recently realized something about myself that kind of surprised me. As a general rule, I really am not flirtatious in any way, shape or for. A guy I liked once confided in me about his dreams for the future, and I very eloquently, sincerely burped in his face. In a musical I was in last year, I was unfortunately required to be sexy and alluring (unfortunately for everyone else...) in one of the numbers, and my first attempt at being irresistible ended in me accidentally punching a chair and making my knuckles bleed. The conversations I have with guys usually consist of arguments about which of us would make the better fruit snack, or a detailed analysis of the artistic intent of an author and whether he purposely made his pronouns and antecedents disagree to add to the pathos of the piece. I say again, I do not, and in most circumstances, physically cannot for fear of harming my person, flirt.
However, it's come to my attention that for some reason, when I go to things like graduation parties, I do actually have an ability to talk to the male species and flirt a little without any burping or mention of fruit snack battles, which is a little strange. But after thinking about it for a little while, I think I've discovered why I suddenly find the confidence or ability or whatever it is when I go to graduation parties or leadership conferences or church camps; it's because there is no risk. I can be impulsive and sarcastic and goofy and I can make a complete idiot of myself and I can bounce back from it and it's okay because I will most likely never see Matt from Lauren's graduation party ever again. I don't have his number, I never had any classes with him and I never will, and I don't even know his last name. And now that I've identified the fact that I'm so weirdly confident around guys when it's just me and them and no expectations or preconceived ideas, it kind of blows my mind 'cuz I've realized how many encounters I've had with guys, and just people in general, where I've had really cool or nerdy or insightful or simply enjoyable conversations I've had with them because I didn't worry about being "normal." I mean, I still look back on the night I discussed the finer points of Superman with a really cute guy at church camp while we sat on a blanket in the night-cooled grass watching fireworks, and even though I don't even remember his name, it still was an amazing night, because we were able to be completely ourselves. It kind of makes me wonder if I had that confidence all the time? What if I walked into every conversation I have with someone without worrying about what they think of me, and just concentrating on being the fullest, most vibrant version of myself, because that instant might be the only time our timelines intersect?
Maybe then I would actually have a boyfriend now instead of writing in a mac 'n cheese duct-tape covered notebook at 11:38 on a Sunday night. :)

-k

Musings

Musings

i think

that to have all the knowledge 

of the planets and stars

is possibly the worst thing

that could have happened 

to a people of Exploration

Love

has been Reduced to a Bundle of 

Neurons Firing and Hormones Raging

and the Sky is Blue

because of the Filtration of Light

into our Factual Atmosphere

to wonder

why he makes you feel that way 

or to be unsure

of why your heart swells

standing on a sweet-smelling hill

in the sunlight

is labeled

"Broken 

Knowledge"

when in fact

i think

to not know

to be unafraid of being small

to treasure the mystery of comprehension

and to have a sense of wonder

is to stave off the gray, drab world of 

simple appearances

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call, "a big, conceited head." Yeah, I am aware that the three biggest red flags for "HELLO THIS PERSON IS FULL OF HERSELF AND ALSO SHE IS TRYING TO BE SUPER ARTSY BUT SHE'S ACTUALLY NOT SO SHE SHOULD JUST STOP" are the following:

Having a blog
Starting the blog with a poem
Starting the blog with a poem and then writing that poem about a sense of wonder, of all things, because that's not high-falutin' in any way at all

I'm very much aware of all these things, and yet, I don't care. Because I like this poem. I will probably look back on this poem five years from now and cringe, as I do when I see any photographic material from my middle school years, but I like this poem because it reminded me of how much I enjoy writing. I'm in the last three days of my senior year of high school, and this last year I went through hell incarnate in the form of Advanced Placement English Literature, where my love of writing went through the wringer and came out soggy, sad and flat. Sitting down and writing this (it was for an assignment for ap lit, ironically) restored the raisin that my love of writing had become and turned it into a grape (that was a very odd metaphor. i may take that out later). And one of the things I really hope I remember to keep in my life is a sense of wonder, because I do think that it's important, and maybe one day I'll look back on this and be reminded that I need to look at the world and not be afraid to not know. I also just think it sounds super artsy and cool and you can just deal with it.

-k