"What word defines you?"
The question stays plastered in my mind for three days before I finally have the courage to put pen to paper and write:
"I do not know."
After 15 years of trying stuff out and learning about who I am, I've only been coming up with more questions
And sometimes, I wish I could back to when I was five.
Because everything was so easy, and I didn't need to answer any questions except for ones like,
"Why is your elephant green?"
And now, when I draw green elephants my mother instead tells me, "Stop drawing green elephants and draw me a scholarship."
And sometimes I wish I didn't have to.
But I'm fifteen. And this is my life now.
I've spent it all on drawing oddly colored mammals and now I have to answer questions like,
"What college are you going to?"
"How are you going to pay for that?"
"Do you have realistic career, because writing doesn't pay much."
And I have not prepared for this.
No adult ever came up to me while I had a green crayon in my hand and told me that I should stop.
So yeah, I'm gonna have questions.
Questions like "Why the hell did I draw my elephant green?"
Questions like "Why the hell do I even have to go to college?"
Questions like "Who am I?"
And all these questions, all of them,
They chase each other around in my head.
They play hide-and-seek in my thoughts.
They wander around in my ambitions.
And all of these questions...
I don't know who I am.
And I don't know if I'll ever find out.
But it isn't knowing who you are that defines you.
It's the journey that leads you there.
And anyone who says at fifteen that they know exactly who they are is lying to themselves.
Because after fifteen years of trying stuff out and learning about who I am, I've only ever come up with more questions.
And that's not always a bad thing.