All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Latin Says I'm Lovable
Latin says I am lovable, worthy of love, must be loved. And that, I believed until, well, I don't even know when I stopped. I just did.
It was when I began to realize silence was my friend and a game of solitaire seemed all too familiar.
It was when I began to realize I wasn't worthy of any love at all and no one had really bothered to listen to my words.
It was when I began to realize that these silly tears of mine wouldn't change anything.
It was when I began to realize that no matter how hard I tried, there'd be the same outcome.
By the end of the day, through my efforts, my tired smiles, my soft whispers, I leave with these empty, small hands of mine, silence tracing my steps. 'There are no advantages in being a bottle with numerous scribbles of melancholy,' I concluded, eyes glued to the withering flower.
I was probably ignorant enough to write a book about acting.
One – When men lie, they look for eye contact. Women look for eye contact when they tell whimsical words of deception.
Two – Smile when you cry.
I chuckled inwardly. Here I am again, dabbling on nonsense. Everything seemed unrealistic, hopeless, disappointing, sad almost.
'This was a vacation, wasn't it?'
With the unfamiliar sky and moon and laughter of distant relatives, this was, undoubtedly, supposed to be my peaceful getaway.
But what kind of getaway was this?
Sure, I've fallen in love with the beauty of the foreign cities, the familiarity with this one… but who was there to share it with?
Who would listen to how I feel, what I want to say… those stories locked inside my heart? Was this healthy of me? Probably not.
I shook my head, ridding myself of these masochistic thoughts. Slightly, I pulled my the corner of my lips onto a slight curve.
I'm not upset, I tell myself over and over. There's no sadness in listening to compliments.
No sharp thorns pierce through my heart when I hear the same flatterings countless times.
No hard feelings in sitting unrecognized, invisible, emotionless with a sea of familiar faces – all showering the love that used to belong to me to someone else.