(no subject)

She cried tears big as grapefruit while her friend sat on her lap with the paper in hand. The paper, that might as well have been a certificate of impending doom, also signified that she had failed her first big art project that she had spent countless weekend hours on.

Her horrible week had just gotten worse, and it was only Tuesday. To her, a break could not come soon enough. So she let herself cry, something she had been restraining all day, she let it loose, opened the flood gates. Although she hates to cry in front of people, at least she was crying in front of two very understanding people: two of her closest friends.

In the span of one month of school she felt the urge, nay, the need, to cry many times. But to her, crying is a sign of weakness, something she was always picked on in school for doing. So she developed a somewhat ingenious way to cover up her watering eyes while in public, only to let loose the dam when she was alone.

When she was a little girl, she used to hid in her closet whenever she felt the need to cry. The closet door would never shut all the way, and the floor was always densely populated with crates of shoes and miscellaneous objects filtched from the kitchen. But this was her private place, a place where she could cry, write, dream, listen to the mini radio she had stored in there, or listen to the conversations going on in the room beyond the closet wall. But there is no closet here for her to hid in. Instead, she must find other places to hid. But, as you can imagine, this is not an easy task. There are always people everywhere she goes, there is no solitude for her.

But she needs to find it, she needs to find a place of santuary. A place of private to vent, collect, and reinvent herself. Then she can emerge from her hide away, back into the world, ready to conquer.

But there is no place like that.

(no subject)

She waved her hands around like a mad Italian as she explained to her comrade how frustrating her teachers had been. They failed to actually 'teach' you anything, they would rather sit back and watch you wrestle with expressing your concept.

"I don't get it!" She said. "They're supposed to be there teaching you how to do stuff, but they don't!"
"It's kinda like they're throwing you in a lake and saying, 'okay, swim!'"
"Yeah! That's exactly how it is! And all I want them to do is tell me how to fix it! What do I need to do to fix it? Just tell me already, just tell me how to fix it!"

In that moment her hands quieted, and she realized what she had said. A silent epiphany. She realized that noone was going to tell her how to fix her problems, that they could only give suggestions, and that she had to fix them herself. Noone can fix your mistakes for you. You just have to jump in, feet first, ready to swim.