Big mouth (literally and figuratively) that tells all without me being able to control it. By contrast, eyes so small they tell nothing except sadness and gladness.
As I look around at my life and at myself, it amazes me that in my 15 years I am contented with what I have made of myself. Even amidst the chaos in my family, there are roses lining my path for as far as I can see. I have weeded out all of the crabgrass in my garden, and I have found some of the most beautiful roses.
When I think of myself it is not the separate parts that are important, but collective parts; of course the parts that are not tangible are of utmost importance.
Everyone around me sees my outside, and this influences what comes out of me, and how I develop inside. Peoples' reactions and actions influence me because I am affected by my surroundings. Although they affect me, I don't think anyone knows what I am really like inside.
Although my mouth is always open with things to share, and I seem to be an open person, I don't share the really important and personal things. These stay in my core where they are constantly on my mind being mulled over. They are the underlying factor in everything that I do and ask.
One of the ways my core shows itself is in the many "Melita" things: the things that define me to others, and have become my trademarks. For instance I am never without my tea rose perfume, or my kiwi-fruit lip balm, and purple in various hues is usually worn somewhere on my body. The way I play with my hair constantly, and the way my nails are usually well-shaped and well-taken care of show that my appearance is important to me because I can control it.
Control is another "Melita" thing. I need the security that control allows me. To stay in balance, I must always have control over myself and then I'm all right, but every now and then it goes beyond me. I try and control what's happening around me, then everything either backfires or I am caught by a friend telling me I'm going overboard, or I catch myself.
Either way I have learned that flexibility within myself helps me stay in control, and it keeps me from trying to control those around me.
Although I have control over what I do, I don't have the same kind of control over my lips. I love this uncontrolled, yet central part of my body. I like the way my lips don't let me be defined as a completely serious and controlling person. They are my fun, excitement and often my downfall (when it comes to secrets), but it makes me accepting and flexible with my own faults as well as others.
My eyes are my controlled and silent place. I trust them never to betray me because they are able to be like one-way mirrors. I can look out and take everything in without fear of being exposed. What I take in goes to my core, like the roses I find along my path. They are very personal and taken to my depths. It's as if those secret joys and sorrows go into my core. There they are mulled over, and made into my perfume, my tea rose. The roses may be used and faded, but they are strong and potent as part of the essence. This essence is my memory, my thoughts and my dreams , all "Melita" things that almost no one even has a clue about. They are my internal "Melita" things.
I only let my eyes portray what goes inside because they don't use words. Instead, they show what's happening by not telling and they can reveal gladness within me, and the sadness better than words. They often do with tears which show both extremes of happiness and sadness. But my tears only come when I want them to , unlike the secrets that pour out of my uncontrollable mouth. My tears are my way of opening myself up, and sharing some of my essence when I want people to know the inside Melita.
This is why I allow my eyes access to my core of tea rose essence. I know that when I let myself cry I am giving away some of my "Melita" essence, but you must understand when I cry I know what I'm doing. I'm giving a little bit of the love that everyone has given me by allowing my tea rose essence to remain strong and potent, and most importantly, secret within me. After all, it's not really tears I'm crying, but roses. n
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.