2004-01-30
I must fight
That same feeling of self-doubt shadowed me throughout the day, despite the fact that my English teacher was pleased with my performance today. I can understand how it feels when one of your students is not performing at the level that they SHOULD be. That's me...I cannot write when you ask me to, only when I want to.
Back to the self-doubt you ask? I could not focus, and when Brienne told me that she did not get accepted, half of my world fell apart. Who's hand would I hold now? Who would I rejoice with? If she cannot once more be my crutch, then I fear that I will not survive. Yet, I bravely made my way to the classroom at the end of the hallway. The grey sky and light drizzle scurried me along, and I did not feel worthy enough to stop and admire it. I knew that two things could happen--either I would be happy this weekend, or I would be miserable and drowning in disappointment. I chose to believe that it would be the latter, but I still ignored it. Perhaps I wanted to hear those words pour from human lips, or perhaps I wanted something miraculous to occur, and I would be praised.
My hand shook, and I turned the knob--I heard soft voices in the classroom. She was there, in front of her laptop, and I came in my humble carriage. The door creaks, I wait, she takes me over to examine the papers. I did very well, but they were not pleased with my essay. Nonetheless, she said that it was now my choice--I could be in AP or not. I said yes, and she told me to have a good weekend.
No, I was not praised for any outstanding and rare literary talent. I know that I never will be, because I am not a writer. At times I would like to think that I did have a hidden genius inside me, and that one day my brilliance would seep through. I had always been proud of that look of disappointment given to me by my English teachers when they returned my papers saying, "You can do better than this..."
No, I am not that person. I do not have a rare gift in anything. I am not witty, and I am not sophisticated. I am something false, I am an usurper. I still have hope, that I have not unlocked my full potential...that all that is lacking is my full effort. I still maintain that hope--that phantasmagoric thing--not tangible, only brought about through speculation. The choice of whether I want to fight my inner warden to unlock this imprisoned potential and talent is my own. Always afraid to make choices because she fears her worst judge--herself. Yes, that is who I am.
I do not love, and I do not let myself be loved becuase I am too proud. I do away with things once I have been scorned by them. I do ask myself what it is that keeps me from accomplishing what I want? Whether 'tis love, or my own intellectual breeding. I am my own enemy, and while I still choose to keep my stance in regards to love (the most futile of all emotions, brought forth from the very fiery pits of hell to corrode your beautiful and healthy soul like an acid seeping from the fangs of an envious serpant) I will not grant my warden this pleasure. I am most regretful, but I must fight.