Wednesday, May 11, 2011

You have brains in your head.

You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who'll decide where to go...
Dr. Seuss
It's time for the annual birthday post and exercise in pure, unadulterated vanity.  I love it.  I love me.
Seventeen had a lot of change.  Remember?  I do.  I remember seventeen being a big year, a year that started out okay, had a lot of confusion and frustration and sadness in the middle, and just kind of lined up at the end.  Seventeen looked like this.

 And this.
 Seventeen wore fishnets (twice.  For a costume.)
 Seventeen bleached her hair (and subsequently dyed it twice, for two very specific circumstances.)
 Seventeen made a ring that was nothing like it was meant to be, and was better that way.
 Seventeen stayed up all night during NaNoWriMo and took this picture of the sunrise, from her bedroom window.
 Seventeen won NaNoWriMo and got balloons.  And had some mysterious substance on her hands.
 Seventeen drove to Flordia and back (did most of the driving too.  Seventeen loved driving.  And learned how to drive a stick.)

 This picture seems vaguely artsy, or maybe just dumb.
 Seventeen visited colleges.  Colleges that she got into through no one else's merit but her own.  Colleges that gave her scholarships because they thought that she was worth something.
 Seventeen went to prom with a fantastic boy.
 And seventeen looked like this.
 Eighteen looks like this.
 And, in a startling new addition, eighteen wore a dress. To school. Shock! Awe! Amazement!  Eighteen had certain members of her Lit class sing to her, out of no where.
Seventeen was learning what it was to wish that you could end someone else's suffering.  Seventeen was helplessness.  Seventeen was wanting something that you could never have.  Seventeen was being someone who other people didn't like.  Seventeen was learning the value of friends.  Seventeen was creating things.  Seventeen was obsessing.  Seventeen was getting a taste of dreams.  Seventeen was seeing what she wanted and getting it.  Seventeen was falling into place.  Seventeen was feeling valued, and feeling worthless.  Seventeen was growing.  Seventeen was changing.
And with all that baggage, all those complicated emotions swirling around me, I'm going on to eighteen.  Here's to you, eighteen.  Here's to everything you'll bring.  I love you already.

2 Fab Fans:

Bianka Rose said...

I really like the versatility of this post. So deep yet almost profoundly Samantha in its humor and style.

I'm going to go write an essay analyzing the literary techniques used to develop the complexity of the meaning of your birthday for you.

Samantha said...

Well, thank you. Can I read the essay? Please?