Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Emotions

Emotions. They seem to rent our heart, mind, soul and life as if we were a hotel. Each day multiple check in, and a few check out. How does that work, three going in, one going out and yet there is still room left? Well it simply doesn’t. That’s the power of emotions as they consume our life. Actually, emotions are life. They are so powerful they can defy math, science, and any law our heart or brain can make. They are terrorists and soldiers fighting against themselves to create a war, but of what? Nothing. Emotions are nothing, but with the power of something so extraordinary, humans have been trying to get control of it for as long as time itself. It is Life.

This is the thought that cascaded through my mind as I gazed wishfully at the roses resting voluptuously on Ms. Deyoe’s desk, basking in their salubrious water. Each flower so unique and pure, delicate and divine, as each pedal soaks up pain and breathes out love. Red passion enshrouds them as little white delicacies strive to brush against the elegant symbol of something so strong it is impossible to understand or fully grasp; love. The heartwarming thought of the flowers seemed to sooth the nervous breakdown happening inside my head, probably due to the Social Studies test I have in about four periods, the upcoming dance, to which I still haven’t chosen a dress for, and the fact I have auditions for the spring musical after school. Isn’t the road of life fun as it brutally whips us around sharp turns and every once in awhile sends us off cliffs, leaving us the hard decision of how to get back up?

The blood red seemed to drip off the roses and back into my thoughts. Love is a strong word. No human being or dictionary can completely and correctly define it. Not only is it a word, but it is a feeling as powerful as to be able to control and trick the brain. It can tell the brain the truth or it can be fogged by lust and confuse it. Powerful, consuming, confusing, law defying, and looking as nothing but having the power of everything; love is an emotion.

I have a love of theatre, the whole aspect of it, from being the lead role, to being someone in the audience experiencing the magic as passion pours out of the actors mouths. Just the thought seems to make ecstasy seep through my skin as anything deleterious, confusing or bereaved disappears into a haze of joy and sheer excitement. Being an actor is like escaping your everyday life and playing in someone else’s. Feeling their pain, wishing their wishes, and loving their love, but in the end, knowing it all turns out right and that everything is wonderfully satisfactory. It gives me hope for my future, lets me be assured that tomorrow will come and go, but with each day, will come pain, joy, depression and a new adventure. Life is like a video game. As you go through each year, month, week, day, night, hour, minute, second, and breath you unlock a new challenge and gain a new reward.

With my pen pressed vigorously to my paper as I manipulated words on my “To Do” sticky note the bell rang, shooting arrows into my ears as it echoed through the halls. How I hated that bell. The clock would count down the minutes until the abnormal screech of the bell gassed its way down the halls, interrupting our thoughts, the thoughts that might have taken hours to come up with, you never know, and apparently nor does the ignorant bell. Now with annoyance and nervousness boiling inside of me I thudded to my locker and then almost sprinted down to lunch. On my way down, the colorful tiles seemed to greet me, as with each stride I took I pounded on them, thrusting my frustration out on each deprived tile that happened to fall under my feet. They were like sponges, ripping my feelings out of my heart and dragging them out through my feet, and then absorbing them. I wondered if that was why tiles cracked; they got so full of emotions they just couldn’t hold onto them anymore, so they let them back out into the world, setting them free into the air to find a new soul to take over. Terrorists, soldiers and scavengers.

Once again the bell rang, scrounging its way up and down the deafened halls signaling the end of lunch and five minutes until math, oh joy. I would elaborate on my wondrous adventure of completely face-planting at the front of the classroom during math, leaving a beautiful purple bruise accompanied by a two inch scratch, but there was nothing wondrous or adventurous about it. Now awaited Social Studies. Shaking, I slugged my way to my locker, grabbed my books, and like a beaten servant, used all my energy to attend my next duty; Mr. Irwin’s classroom. So now here I sit, clutching my Social Studies notebook, with this aching feeling multiplying in my stomach, the air condensing more and more as if with each minute that ticks on the clock a pound of nervousness is poured into my never ending vein of anxiety. The air seems to taunt me as if it knows of my futuristic failure. As the air scratches across my face deridingly, any thought of school seems to blur its way out of my mind. All I see is Mr. Irwin walking up to the front of the room with a pencil straight face, accompanied by intimidation. Multiple words pour out of his mouth, but I’m too dazed to hear them. By the end of his talk, I found out he is giving us 40 minutes to study. This should have excited me, but I knew the words would go in and stick, but when the test came, I knew, just knew, that they would peel away, and truthfully informing you reader, that’s exactly what happened. The test glided from Mr. Irwin’s hands and tauntingly skidded across my desk; and you know what: HE LIED!! He said we learned about everything that was on the test, and WE DIDN’T!! There were two questions on the test about the Grass Fight and we HAVE NOT learned ANYTHING about the Grass Fight!!! This angered me, and you know what angered me even more? I found out two days later he gave us a five minute lesson on the Grass Fight. Yeah, I’m so going to remember a little snip-it from a huge lesson. That’s like one day randomly telling us his hamsters name is Chuck, and then testing us on it two weeks later. NOT FAIR, possible for kids with amazing memory, but NOT FAIR!! Then, topping off my disaster sundae with a rotted cherry, I got a 75 on the test I studied 2 HOURS for!! (I blame it on the Grass Fight…) You know if Texans and Mexicans would just GET ALONG life would have been so much easier! (For them I mean…)

Then once again, the bell rang, scratching and cringing down the halls like little gremlins taunting kids through the doors. As the echo was washed out the halls by a brief second of peace and serenity I paraded my way down to dance.
“…Now introducing the Ma-jes-tics!” (Audience applause, music begins to play in the background). 5…6…7…8…step left, out right, step right, out left. Remember…

Shake pompoms side to side, not randomly spastic.

Ignore seriously annoying and fatally aggravating itch.

Smile

Do not say naughty things when you mess up…

…SMILE!

Ignore rubber things sticking to your tights.

Do not itch, do not itch, DO NOT ITCH!

Stay on count…4…6…7….wait what! ...3…7…

BREATHE! In-out-in-out-hiccup-in-out…
The thought was pleasing as it reminded me of football season, and saddened me to know that it was in the past, and not to occur again until next year. Then the thought shattered like glass and fell from my brain as I gazed drowsily at the clock, an attack partner with the bell, as it showed me mockingly that I only had five minutes to change, have my hair up, and be in the dance room ready. Of course though, with my ever not so speedy changing method, I snuck to my spot, like a punished dog, one minute late. Honestly reader, dance was really good that day, besides the fact that I was half asleep the whole time, but that’s another story… Dance almost brought me back into my good mood, almost, until the bell rang for the last and final time today. My day wasn’t over though; my rollercoaster had one more terrifying loop-de-loop. “Laine Leitao, it’s time for your auditions…”

P.S. - Emotions, life and love. Amazing, powerful and frightening. We live with them as they live in us. They connect to each word we say, each feeling we have, every breath we breathe, and each wish we wish. Where are your emotions taking you; what are they telling you? How are you living; are you proud of it? Who do you love; why do you love?



Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!




Site Feedback