My first post, my first blog.
Firsts seems to always lead to something more, whether it’s adventure or destruction, there’s always something following it. Watching this movie about this girl creating a blog about her sex life seemed to peak my interest. However, her purpose was to “kill time and strengthen verbal usage.” Contrary to the egotistical, promiscuous protagonist in the movie, I long for freedom of speech and a genuine heart of purity. I understand how many would find that boring, but this isn’t for you.
Sixteen years of my life, I’m being told that I need to know what I want to do and where I want to go to college by the age of eight. It took an extremely long enough time, but here I am, finally figuring out my passion even though it’s everything my mother fights against. I still have to tell her my disappointing path I am choosing to follow, yet I’m not even sure if this is where I’m meant to be.
Anyways, being a writer is art. Even though I tried long and hard to learn how to draw and watercolor, every ruined canvas and piece of paper resulted to looking like a three year old’s vomit. Then I phased into writing short paragraphs on Tumblr then eventually keeping a little red journal that seems to only have four pages filled out. The combination of twenty six letters is my version of art. It may not be Van Gogh or Beethoven quality, but it’s mine. That has to count for something.
So here I am, with my MacBook Pro my mother got me for my fifteenth birthday and to heal my broken heart from my first breakup, attempting to create some phenomenon in my life. If anyone sticks around to reading this, let me just say you’re crazy but I appreciate it. This may not be the greatest adventure you’ll experience, but you’re in for something that probably no one will expect from an anxious, depressed sixteen year old.