I was having fun. I always had fun. Life was even fun. I had a phone I could use that wasn’t being checked twenty-four seven. I had my own room, with my own things and trinkets. I had posters on the walls of my favorite artists and a record player to play all my vinyls. I go to my classes and lunch alone without teachers having to walk us there. I was having fun, so to say, for a teenage girl in highschool. But something just didn’t click. I remember when I was merely seven, dreaming about the wonders of adolescence. The freedom. The power of saying swear words. Learning to drive. Responsibility. Having more knowledge on everything. Getting to go places with friends. All I wanted was to be grown up. I wanted freedom, and teenagers seemed to have it all. It all seemed like paradise to me; but alas, it did not live up to my expectations.

I expected some sort of shift to happen when I turned 13, something telling me, i was a teenager, but nothing happened. Nothing changed or shifted. I still felt like a kid. None of those knowledgeable moments or power to say swear words came about. Seven-year-old me didn’t think about GPA’s or semester finals or the lack of motivation to do anything which ends up in staying up till 1 studying, doing homework, and finishing missing work from Mrs. McCarter because god knows how a 1 and a half hour class isn’t enough to finish it for some reason.

I didn’t have those friends to go to places with. I wasn’t responsible with anything. I still don’t know how to drive. And I didn’t have any knowledge to pass on to younger kids who don’t seem to know much about life or 3rd grade math. I’m not living up to the teenage dream seven-year-old me had dreamt about. I was a slump who was successfully mediocre at everything I did who had gaping eyebags and a lack of motivation. She was a straight-A student who had many friends and always wore pretty clothes to school and had boys flocking to her. She had every right to dream that life for me. If I had continued the way she had, it might've actually happened; but ever since I moved my last year of elementary school, something did in fact shift.

I suddenly wore the same sweater everyday. My hygiene declined. My nails began to accumulate dirt more often. Eventually I moved back to the middle school that all my old elementary school-peers would’ve gone to. In the midst of my sudden change, people distanced themselves from me. I could no longer come up to my old friends and strike up a conversation. I just became too different. Too different from everybody. Too weird for the average person but too normal for the weird kids. I just existed to everyone. I was never particularly important to anybody; I just had people who would occasionally talk to me. Conocidos. I wasn’t questionably good at anything, there’s nothing interesting about me that would make anyone take any interest in me, and nothing interesting ever happens to me either.

My life is very dull and boring. It’s like a turkey with no seasoning. Sure, you’ll eat it, but as you do you’ll be wishing you had put some seasoning of some sorts on. I couldn’t complain though. At least I had something to eat. My life may be uninteresting but at least I had the opportunity to do something with it. Some don’t have that privilege. The burning feeling of wasted potential was immense. There were countless things I could do with my life, but instead I did nothing. The endless opportunities were overwhelming. When I was five I wanted to be an artist. When I was seven I wanted to be a youtuber. When I was eight I wanted to be a singer. When I was eleven I wanted to be an author. When I was 13 I wanted to be a music teacher. I don’t know what I want to be anymore. I could be so many things, I have the talent and supplies to do so many things; what I would do with it was the question. But as they say, I was having fun. There wasn’t any room to complain about here.

© deterge the ramen