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Wing It: Story of Expectation

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People have always told me in my life, “You’re going to go somewhere someday, be somebody,” and I believed them. I was already on my way to being somebody too. At 13 years of age, I was already on High Honor Roll, looking at career options, and checking out colleges. Now you may say, “Isn’t she too young to be doing that?” Maybe I would even agree with you there.


My life consists of being a writer, artist, poet, musician, composer, conductor, director, actress, singer, gymnast, and a dancer, along with reading all the time and trying to get good grades while still being a teenager. It is a lot to bear but I enjoy it all. Then, one day, I decided that I don’t want to be what everybody else expects of me. My closest friends even had expectations, to hang out with them, smile, and play around, have fun.


Having fun, I admit, was the hardest thing for me. I have always had a very mellow personality, never hyper, never outgoing, but having fun just wasn’t in my vocabulary. I was usually in a gray mood, even as a kid; I hated sleepovers and never hung out with anyone. I guess I’m still kind of like that too. When I made that decision though, I opened up to who I really was.


I soon stopped looking at colleges, future careers, and being the perfect person. Not caring about my look anymore, I got a drastic four inches cut from my hair and I got eye length bangs, nobody’s opinion would stop me. I wore loose clothing over my big chest and bigger pant sizes to actually fit my body. What mattered to me then was being compassionate about myself.


When I thought of going far, I immediately thought of my feet. They are probably one of my most prized possessions. They let me be myself, I thought, why not let them take me all the way to wherever I supposed to go? The dancer in me died to get out. I wanted to show the world what I could do. I wanted this, I wanted to go far.

Unfortunately, I knew I could never make it in the big world of dance. I was too inexperienced. I had one year of consistent training in Lyrical and Ballet when the next year I was evaluated good enough to go on Pointe. I then joined Jazz to the group so I could try more types of dance. Realizing that this wasn’t the career for me, I tried out some of my other loves.

My next experiment was with writing. It was my hobby, my de-stressor, my safe haven. I could be whoever I wanted, wherever I wanted, without leaving the comfort of my foldable desk chair. My fingers worked like a pro on the keyboard, typing away stories of lost lands and secrets, tragedies and fairies. I loved every single moment of it, even the writers-block.

Then, I remembered my resolution. The resolution not to be what others wanted me to be, to not bend to expectations. I stopped writing for the summer and I never had the heart to start again. I got to about 200 pages in a book I was writing and stopped when the competition around me scorched my brain. I was sick of people more or less around me trying to compete for a prize that was nonexistent.

I never did try out my other loves of being a musician or composer, a conductor or actress, a director, singer, or gymnast, artist, or poet. I’m glad I didn’t too; otherwise I would still be swept up in all that confusing mess of a future. Now, I’m just being me, a teenager, still with acne, problems, sickness, siblings, and parental units that get on my nerves. But, I’m me, and that’s all that matters.

On March 25, 2008, I started writing again, which, coincidentally, is today. I needed to vent, to get my emotions out on a screen, or paper, or run them off with my feet. Writing all of this made me realize that whatever I do in the future, wherever I go, just like in my books, I’ll be happy there when I know it was my decision to go. I didn’t need plans, just like the part of me actually being a teenager, I would wing it.





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