Wax

  Chapter 4

  The next day, school started up pretty normally.

  It was raining again, as yesterday was a precursor of today’s weather. And the light raindrops felt and looked gray against the gray skies. After I decided to leave Claire’s house, I literally went back home and played guitar the entire day. I dunno why, I just sung at the top of my lungs.

  I found out that she was homeschooled, because her parents pulled her out as they wanted her to focus on tennis. I found this extremely aggravating actually, as she told me the only friends she’s ever had were tennis friends, and since she constantly moved around a lot, she didn’t have lot of those either.

  I didn’t understand their reasoning for pulling her out of school. Their controlling behavior reminded me too much of Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, and it struck too deep for my liking.

  Anyways, I also started on a little personal project. I told myself that I would write a song for her. I’d keep it to myself, obviously, because I wasn’t like Claire, not matter how much I wanted to be like her. She wrote books blatantly, and she doesn’t care what anyone else thinks of her, that was how cool she was. I told myself, that by the end of the year, I’d have a song ready for her, and I’d sing it to her, and I’d make her and myself proud.

  It felt good. I was doing something for myself, because I wanted to, finally.

  Anyways.

  The school day seemed rather normal for a Monday morning. And it really was, in a way, because I was so wrapped up with Claire and her strange yet oh so familiar ideas and ideals that I couldn’t concentrate in anything.

  During English class, however, something struck my nerves.

  Our English class was run by Mrs. Nguyen, a young and hopeful teacher who had just received her Master’s degree in college. I really liked her and the way she taught, as she allowed us to be more creative with the things we were handling. We were currently doing a reading of The Bell Jar, a book that talked about the inner workings of society and how unjust it was.

  I’ve always liked the books we’ve studied in English class, but 3 out of all. The Catcher in the Rye was my all time favorite, The Great Gatsby was a close second, and The Bell Jar was a good runner up as well.

  The Catcher in the Rye was the one that really got me started in rebelling. I mean, it literally taught me how to look at life a different way. I knew the message it was trying to send is “protect innocence”, but the way Salinger wrote it gave me inspiration to be like Holden, and to connect to him.

  The Great Gatsby taught me the importance and the terrible truth about money and the disgusting things it could bring into the world.

  The Bell Jar, well, that taught me something entirely different. It held a certain Catcher in the Rye-esque, while capturing something that was so strange and so different and so good entirely that I knew it’s a great book. I dunno how to explain it, it just is. It had a scent, a feeling, something only The 1975 was able to inspire in me. It was able to summon forth something so passionate and so strong, but with no direction that I was just left empty inside.

  I don’t even know.

  After all, “I am, I am, I am.”

  Actually, I’ve always liked books in general, now that I think back on it. When I was younger, my parents didn’t let me play video games because they told me it was a waste of time, and that video games would do nothing except ruin my future. They pretty much compared video games to cancer, and I think I was about 8 years old at the time.

  However, something good came out of it for me at least.

  My parents introduced me to the wonderful invention known as literature, books especially. Books were a place to escape to if I was ever sad, or down or even needed the company of an imaginary friend. I know it sounds extremely pathetic and sad, but I sometimes preferred the fantasy realms that existed in the culmination of the imagination and books then reality. Hell, I guess you could say that I’m sort of addicted to it.

  I remember, when I was younger, on both rainy days and just free time pretty much, I’d get a book and curl up in my bed and read for hours on end. Sometimes, I even read through entire meals because the books were just impossible to put down.

  However, this gave me too much of an imagination, I think, because I lost track of reality sometimes. I couldn’t and didn’t let my parents find out about my addiction to fantasy worlds where I didn’t have to be me because they wanted me to be Merci, the outstanding student and the dutiful son.

  It’s gotten to the point that, sometimes, well not sometimes, okay a lot of times, I would have dreams about wildly scary stuff. Scary not as in the horror movie scary, but I mean scary in the way that I almost lost my feet on the realms of reality. Sometimes, I’d dream about myself living in fantasy worlds, or being in fantasy situations only heroes in the books were in. You see, once I had this insane idea that I was destined for greatness because of all the books I read, and that my parents and school and college were only a trial in my long journey to be a legend. That was the scariest thought I ever had, not because it was unrealistic and a dream crusher, but because I actually thought it was true once.

  And then, randomly, I dreamt that I was a ninja, and that I saved the school during a school shooting.

  You see what I mean?

  Anyways, we were having one of those class discussions, and it was for points. Usually, I only participated the bare minimum amount of times just to get my points because I never really liked sharing my thoughts with anyone as I knew I thought differently from everybody else.

  It was a Socratic Seminar, you know, the one where you sit in a circle and talk about the meaning of life and all the symbolic things that happen in the book. And although I don’t participate that much, I still do find the points interesting as they help me make up my own mind.

  However, Nick and Dick and Mason don’t seem to share that sentiment. They were against the artists in general, and that sorta made me sad even though everyone was against the artists. None of them saw the point in all the symbolism, and the intricate art of looking underneath the layer. They saw the onion for the purple husked vegetable and not for the many layers of stories that have collected since its seed was first grown.

  We were talking about the symbolism of Esther throwing her clothes away in the middle of the night, and everyone was participating fairly well.

  You know, I actually didn’t get symbolism when I first started delving into the world of literature. Why would people use symbols instead of just telling the truth you know? Like, why can’t Esther just say that people are treating women badly in her time period instead of using a symbol like the bell jar to describe it?

  It almost annoyed me to oblivion that I just couldn’t understand why people used symbolism. I mean, why couldn’t people be honest you know?

  I dunno, perhaps it was just something people did to sound cooler, and that was the conclusion that I arrived at. But eventually, I discovered that symbolism is the messenger that the author uses to deliver his point without stating the truth, because it could be dangerous.

  Anyways, Nick giggled underneath his breath, and shook his head as he leaned in closer to me. “These idiots. English is so useless in the real world. I mean, why are people even studying this shit? It’s not like knowing the bell jar is a symbol will help you get money in the real world.”

  I felt my insides tie greasy knots in my stomach as I nodded unwillingly externally. Internally, however, I was just so freaking depressed, or sad, or whatever you wanna call it. I’m not sure those adjectives were the right ones, I just found it super sad that people don’t appreciate the beautiful things in life, and that everything was about money and a path that they make you follow, you know?

  Nick continued on in his arrogant speech, bolstered by the laughter that he received from the circles of conformity.

  “I bet,” He cut himself off with another unbearable giggle. “I bet there are some idiots in the room who’s gon
na end up homeless because they wanna study art.”

  Another circle of giggling.

  Mrs. Nguyen pretended not to notice, I think, because if I was her I would be pissed off as hell.

  Listening to him talk left a bad taste in my mouth, like the sour rotten air left in the wake of Gastby’s demise, or the stench of sweat and yellow smog in The Bell Jar. He said art like it was something stuck on the bottom of your shoe, or something that was even lower than an inanimate object that had nothing worthy of recognition.

  But art was beautiful, and it was everywhere. It didn’t even make me angry, it just made sad that there were people in this world who just didn’t see or appreciate the beauty in things.

  This reminded me of a field trip our English class took to LACMA, or the LA County Museum of Art. It was a couple months back, and I was super excited internally, even though on the outside I displayed the same nonchalance as the group did. Back then, I hadn’t met Claire yet, and so I still kept my feelings to myself largely.

  I remember this trip so vividly because I realized something very important on this trip. I realized that there are only two kinds of people who live on this earth, those who saw past superficiality and those who didn’t.

  Yin and Yang.

  Artists and everyone else.

  They were all 2 sides of the same coin, and it may seem weird to describe it that way, but I’ll just show you by example.

  You see, in LACMA, there’s a modern art section of the museum that was by far my favorite part of the buildings. I mean, there were other parts of the museum that held other exhibitions of pretty sweet art works, but the modern art section just had something special about it. It held paintings and artworks from the contemporary era, and I remembered just gazing in awe at the artworks as every single one was so creatively simple and abstract, or just so full of itself that it was impossible to not be in awe of it.

  However, the group didn’t share my feelings.

  I remember gazing at a white piece of canvas covered by glass, as it was one of the artworks in the modern art section. You see, each modern artwork held a sort of deeper meaning, as it looked plain or just extremely simple or childish on the surface. This one was literally just a white piece of canvas, in a rectangular form a little bit bigger then my entire body. I knew that anyone could create this, but that was what made it special. Why would the artist create this? Why is this considered art? How can this be viewed as beautiful?

  And I think those are the most important questions to be asking, instead of, well, what Nick said.

  Nick stood next to me, and shook his head. “Mason, get over here you gotta see this shit.”

  Mason, followed by the rest of the group, waddled over and smirked at the painting that stood in front of us. “Can you believe this piece of shit sold for 5 million?”

  Nick shook his head. “I could do this in like 3 hours; c’mon this is a waste of our time. Let’s go get some food, all this art is making me nauseous.”

  Everybody else nodded in agreement. I however, stayed in my spot, and tried to decipher the meaning of the artwork.

  In the end, I realized that it was a mirror of sorts, as I could see my own reflection in the glass. I realized what the author was trying to say, and I felt proud of myself, even though it wasn’t what everybody else saw or agreed on.

  “You are art,” I murmured beneath my breath as I gazed at the plain white canvas one last time.

  “You coming dude?” Nick asked, as he walked out of the gallery with money in hand.

  I nodded, and followed wordlessly, as a sudden feeling of loneliness set in amongst the suddenly very hollow feeling of triumph in my chest.

  I dunno, I think that day I realized something really depressing about this world. I realized that no matter what people do, or no matter what I do, there’s always gonna be some people who are just obstinate enough to depreciate the beautiful things in life, and that’s just sad man. I just felt pity for them, and also because most people don’t appreciate natural beauty.

  I wonder how Claire deals with it, I thought to myself. I mean, she just doesn’t care what anyone thinks, that’s what made her so damn cool in my eyes. Sometimes, I wished that I was like her, but still retained my own personality you know? Although, I knew it was pretty much impossible or at least really hard because I was an HSP, or HSE, or whatever you wanna call it.

  HSP stands for Highly Sensitive Person, and it’s actually a condition that has been diagnosed. Apparently, 20% of the global human population has it. HSP was, I dunno exactly how to describe it. I guess you could say it defined me for who I was, and everything that happened to me. You see, HSP is a condition in which the person overanalyzes everything, and I know I’m getting sorta technical and science-y, but just bear with me. Basically, the person is “sensitive” and extremely empathetic to everything, even the smallest of comments.

  I dunno, for instance, ever since I was young, my friends have been telling me that I was way too sensitive and can’t take a joke for my life, and I mean I tried, I really did. It’s just built into my nervous system, and into my neurological pathways that I overanalyze everything, so a simple joke doesn’t even register with me. I mean, it was all right at the beginning, where I was just joking around with the group, but after a while, the jokes started getting to my HSP personality and I just started thinking about things like “are they actually my friends,” or like “maybe I should find a new group” or something like that.

  And it was really hard for me to not conform, no matter how hard I tried to fight against my instincts. Standing out made me feel like I was a guinea pig just being watched. Missing a ball on the soccer team made me feel so self-conscious that I just didn’t want to touch the ball anymore, and that’s one of the major reasons I don’t play sports. And being in the norm made me feel comfortable, no matter how fucked up the norm is.

  HSP is pretty much the story of my life in 3 capital letters.

  The thing about HSP is that you feel like you’re alone in a world where everyone around you isn’t like you, and that’s really freaking scary. I’ve never actually found another HSP person that I knew, and so it was hopeless for me to actually have a real solid best friend you know? HSP people understand each other better and just people in general, and so they naturally have an affinity for friendship.

  I wondered if Claire was HSP. Hell, I wonder what she would do in my situation. Sometimes, I envied her being able to stay home from all of this crap, but on the other hand, the notion her parents deprived her of a normal childhood because they wanted her to do something they wanted for her was also extremely stupid and screwed up.

  At lunch, I was so caught up with my depressing thoughts that I didn’t really wanna eat anything. I just followed the group to the quad, under a large clearing where we usually eat. I tried not to really talk with anyone, because I just really wanted to be alone. Sometimes, I wondered to myself why I was actually even hanging out with them in the first place, and it was because of this that I sat by myself at the ends of a table today.

  I noticed Aileen’s furtive and momentary glances in my general direction out of the corner of my eyes while I was eating, I knew she wanted to talk to me about something, but I didn’t know what it was, and I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to know. I probably looked like a huge loner, on the outskirts and outcaste by society, but for once, I really didn’t mind. I was just so damn depressed about everything.

  I wasn’t sure if it was the fact that I was the only HSP I know, or the fact that I had to bear the fact that I was amongst the few that actually appreciated the beautiful things in life, or maybe if it was because of the fact that I wanted to rebel against this fucked up place we lived in but I couldn’t because I was me.

  I think it was precisely at this time that Eryk showed up.

  Eryk was an interesting character, I must say. He was openly gay, first of all. In fact, he was so openly gay he was pretty much known as
“that gay dude” and that made him braver then anyone I knew. In a world where homosexuality is deceivingly accepted, and where homophobia exists, he was like a shining beacon of hope and justice in the obsidian darkness. He was like a male version of Claire, in a weird sense.

  Eryk was also nice, extremely nice, actually he was almost too nice. And he had that charismatic charm around him that made people want to befriend him. What I like most about him, I think, is the fact that he had passion.

  You know how back in the old days, schools were built for the purpose of education, and not to just follow the path of a brainwashed person set on society’s path, well Eryk personified that. He went to school to learn, not to attempt to get into the best college he could. Others, actually not others, everyone else that I knew went to school just for the fact of getting into a good college. Most of them didn’t even know what they wanted to learn or major in.

  People make the fact that they don’t know what field they’re gonna major in such a trivial and minor detail, but I think it’s the exact opposite. We’re supposed to go to school because we want to learn something, to better ourselves for our own goals no matter what they may be. And if we don’t know what goal we have and what we wanna learn, then what’s the point, you know?

  But today, most people my age are lost, and I once heard this song from an artist who wrote it. I love the fact that artists can create their own art about anything they want, instead of having to conform to what a set standard. Honestly, I didn’t understand why everybody wasn’t like them, like artists I mean.

  There’s no sense in trying anymore,

  Working day jobs from nine to four,

  They say we’re all part of movement idiosyncrasy

  And they say it’s better to be with than to be me

  But if we do that we’re not actually living are we?

  So fly to Neverland with me in our dreams,

  See the sun and the moon eclipse behind the seas

  And realize that we’re revolutionaries

  The song, called Revolutionaries, was one of the best lyrically written songs I’ve ever heard. I dunno who it was that wrote it but I did know that whoever the writer was, he or she was gonna make it big in the future, and I was happy for him. Not for his success, but because he had the courage to do what he wanted to do when everyone else wanted him to do something different.

  Anyways, Eryk was an interesting character, and I remember very vividly the first time that I met him.

  We were sitting in Chinese class, and it was tutorial. Tutorial was like this weird 30 minute break in between classes in which you’re supposed to use to study, but no one really does anything except for talk and go on their phones. It was an odd experience to say the least, because he hit on me.

  Yes, that’s right.

  He literally hit on me.

  It was interesting because he was damn straight forward. I know that, in the 21st century, people are supposed to be able to say that they’re gay, or “come out” without fear, but a lot of people hide because in reality, homosexuality is still frowned upon no matter how many parades we have or congress laws we pass, and that’s just plain sad.

  Maybe I’m just an inherently pessimistic person, but that was just the way I view it, and I think it’s even sadder that I view it as that.

  Anyways, Eryk came up to me with a confident walk, and I remember this very clearly because I had never seen him around before. I knew he was a new kid, since I knew pretty much everybody in the school who was on the advanced placement route, or as I like to call it the “People Who Have Sticks Shoved Up Their Asses Route”. Sadly to say, I’m also in this route.

  Anyways, I was sitting in a corner, and talking to Nick about math because there was a test next period that I had to pass in order to keep my A. Everything was pretty much normal, because this was literally what I did every tutorial.

  My knees were crossed, and I remember that I was looking at a Venn Diagram for the difference between the equation of an ellipse and a hyperbola.

  “Hey, you.” A voice that sounded quite a lot like a high pitched Adam Levine said outta nowhere.

  I looked up, confused. Most people knew who I was, because I usually hung out with the top dogs in our school, AKA the kids who were most likely to get into Ivy Leagues or UC’s. It’s kind of a depressing thought if you really think about it, but then again isn’t everything?

  Anyways, I saw a young looking Asian boy in front of me, crouching. He looked like a sophomore, which was one year younger than me. His charcoal dark eyes seemed to shine with a mischievous gleam, as if he knew something that I didn’t. Dramatic irony, I think is what it’s called.

  “Me?” I asked precariously, not sure of whom he was talking to. Nick was still looking down at his math textbook, preoccupied within his personal little world of studying.

  Eryk, whose name I didn’t know back then, glanced at me with an amused smile on his face.

  “No Dummy, I’m talking to the person behind you.”

  There was a wall behind me. It was beige, and it was sarcastic to the max.

  “Oh. Ok.” I suddenly felt very stupid, for some strange reason. “Well um, what do you need?”

  Usually, when people came up to me in school, it was usually for homework help. In the “upper” echelons of our school’s society, grades were everything and so everyone did everything they could do get the best grade they could, and that included cheating, unfortunately.

  I have to admit, I have also cheated in the past, and so I’m just as guilty as everybody else.

  The thing with cheating is that I knew it was bad, hell teachers tell us this everyday and have engrained this into our heads ever since the first grade. I just thought it was worse for a different reason. You see, it just confirmed my thoughts about schools not being for the purpose of education.

  I know it sounds like something bordering blasphemy, but it’s totally true. No one that I knew came to school to simply learn, but to get into a good college. And that was the saddest part of them all. So when cheating occurs, sure, it’s only cheating yourself and it’s dishonest academics. But in reality, I think cheating is just so stupid and pathetic because it’s defying the very reason we’re supposed go to school in the first place, which was education for ourselves, and not just because society has set a path for us all to follow.

  But I think that this reason is what makes Eryk so different.

  “My name’s Eryk. Well most people call me that anyways, but you can just call me tonight. What’s your name?” He asked in a polite but amused manner.

  My jaw dropped at his audacity and the sheer amount of balls he had.

  “I’m Merci.” I replied in a shell shocked murmur.

  “Cool, cool. Hey listen. You’re cute. Wanna be my boyfriend?”

  I gaped.

  Nick’s head shot up from his purple Pre-Calculus textbook, his mouth open just as wide as mine but for totally different reasons.

  “Erm, um, I don’t…” I managed to stammer out.

  Nick burst out laughing, and he slapped his textbook with his free hand in his laughter crazed stupor.

  “Well?” Eryk asked again.

  He was being completely serious, I realized, and so I decided to be completely serious back.

  “Um, sorry. I’m straight.”

  “Oh…” Eryk looked disappointed for a second, before that happy go around face slapped back into place. It almost looked like a façade to me at the time, even though I had no idea that it was a façade after all.

  “Well that’s cool anyways. Who’s your friend?”

  Nick kept on laughing. “I’m not gay dude, don’t even think about it. If you really wanna cross lightsabers there’s an LGBT club on campus I’m sure you’re gonna fit right in.”

  He said all that between his hysterical giggles, and it kinda pissed me off.

  I glared at the ground, or nowhere in particular in fact. I really didn??
?t like how people still had homophobia, even though it isn’t the gay person’s fault that he’s gay. Actually, it’s not even a ‘fault’, it’s just who he is, who they are.

  There were pride parades and other awesome equal love events that were happening and being organized, but if you take one good look at the news, the Orlando Night Club thing isn’t really helping that much. Sometimes I hate how close minded people are, and it’s not fair to the people who deserve better. Hell, I could honestly sort of relate to them, in a weird sense.

  But before I could defend Eryk, he beat me to the punch.

  “At least I have a lightsaber to cross. And there’s nothing wrong in joining the LBGT activist club, unless you’re saying you hate around 5 million Americans, and more worldwide then you better shut it buddy. Plus, if I’m joining the LGBT club at least I don’t havta look at you’re ugly ass face anymore, it’s a good thing you’re straight because if you were gay then I’d havta turn straight to avoid you.”

  I lost it.

  I mean, I fucking lost control.

  I think my stomach still hurt the next day from laughing so hard.

  I’ve also never seen Nick look so miffed before. He looked as if he was going to say something but in the end just decided to go back to his pathetic little enclosed universe.

  So yeah, that was the first time I met Eryk, which was about 4 months ago from present time. Since then, he’s become one of my better friends actually. Everyone knew him as an oddball, an anomaly of sorts that they were okay to be acquainted with, but to never actually befriend.

  I found out that he had just moved from Texas, and that he was living with his brother in an apartment home in Woodbridge. I never really bothered to ask where his parents were, and I didn’t exactly have that in mind. You see, Eryk had always had my respect, for being openly gay and himself in a world that condemned homosexuality under false pretenses of liking, but he was a mystery even to me, even when I was closer to him then the group.

  And today, when I was bummed about pretty much everything and the cycle of life in general, he came over and sat with me.

  “Eryk?” I mumbled slowly as I chewed forlornly on a cold piece of chicken. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at some club meeting?”

  You see, Eryk was involved in clubs and activities all around campus, like most people I knew. However, while most people did it to have something to show for their college applications, Eryk actually only joined the clubs he was really interested in, and that made me respect him even more. He was like the moonlight in midnight, and it was hard not to be in awe of his shadow.

  He shrugged nonchalantly, “Nah there’s nothing today. Anyways, what’s wrong? You look sad.”

  I schooled my expression to a neutral one. But inside, my mind was shocked. Whenever I’m sad or angry, I always try to keep it to myself, and never really show anyone that I was emotionally down. Usually, I just try to swallow it and let it stew. It passes in about 30 minutes or so, and I don’t really like sharing with other people about my own problems, which is weird because I like it when other people shared their problems with me.

  Actually there’s a correction there, I don’t think I’ve found a person to share my problems with yet, because no one really understands me.

  “M’ not sad.” I replied as I reached for another cold piece of meat.

  “I swear. You’re like a girl on her period.”

  I was almost insulted.

  “So you gonna tell me? Or should I beat it outta you?”

  I harrumphed. I couldn’t lie for my life, which was surprising since my entire existence felt like it was based on one giant massive lie.

  “I dunno man.”

  “Merci I swear-”

  “No, I mean, I don’t even know myself. It’s just everything you know? Like, I’m just so freaking sad about everything. My parents are forcing me to go to college and pursue something I have no interest in, everyone else around me thinks that’s freaking normal but all I really wanna do is write songs and change the system. I HATE this system, goddamn it.”

  Eryk nodded, a tacit response to let me continue.

  “And just, fuck man. So many people hate on so many different things, it’s just sad that I can’t do anything right now to affect any goddamn thing. And like, there’s such a large discrimination for artists and art, and there’s no Goddamn appreciation for the beautiful things in life anymore. Everyone these days is so goddamn brainwashed!”

  I let out a long sigh, to release all the built up tension that had been boiling and stewing inside of me.

  It felt good, no it felt great, letting out my emotions for the first time in maybe ever to someone that I know was just like me. Perhaps it could’ve been better with Claire, perhaps not. All I knew was she probably changed my outlook on life in an instant.

  And I’m not some love sick puppy, it was true. She did whatever she wanted, and she didn’t care about the influence of everyone else. That was what made her so damn cool.

  Anyways, Eryk thought about what I said for a brief moment. I knew he was perhaps one of the 3 people who actually understood me, asides from myself and Claire.

  “Me too.”

  I nodded.

  He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to either. I knew that he understood exactly what I meant, because mere words couldn’t encompass or clarify the meaning of what I had just shared with him. It was taboo, essentially, because what I had just shared was against every law, every book in society’s laws.

  And for him, his agreement meant he felt the same way. How it was just depressing that in a world where humans are supposed to be equal with no regards to race or gender or sexual preference, it’s just all a false pretense of equality. And what was sadder is that there is a strong denial of this, through the pride parades and the dates we name in their honor, nothing’s going to happen if we don’t treat them the same.

  After all, that’s the point isn’t it?

  Anyways, after that little talk of ours, Eryk and I headed for Chinese class, which was 5th period and also the start of the end of our day. You see, in our school, there were 6 periods of classes in total, and each day was divided up into 3 sections.

  So there was first and second, break, third and fourth, lunch, 5th and 6th and school was out.

  5th and 6th periods were the most looked forwards to, by most students in not only our school but probably the rest of the world, I thought in hypocritical disgust, because they wanted school to end. I realized that it was all just one big giant circle as once again it comes down to the lack of drive people have anymore. Everyone was just so damn lost and drunk on society’s sweet cherry wine, and they all forgot the actual true purpose of schools, which was both sad and sort of mainstream in a bad way.

  But I was guilty of the same charge, but for some reason I didn’t feel disgusted with myself. I guess it was because I thought I was above the law or something, as the one dealing out the accusations and the judgments. I felt like a part of a revolutionary movement of counterculture, in which I was the only one along with Claire to have the courage to stand up for what we actually believe in instead of following blind leaders.

  Anyways, after school was let out, everyone headed out to do their own things, which namely were extracurriculars. EC’s were pretty important, to say the least, because according to the adults, all colleges wanted to see strong EC’s relating to the student’s area of study, AKA major. And it fucking sucked.

  Literally, everyone in the group was doing the EC’s just because they wanted to fulfill their college requirements, and not because they wanted to. That didn’t sit well with me for a large reason, and I disliked our system even more after I realized the fact that I couldn’t do anything to change this either.

  People were doing things because they “should”, and not because they wanted to

  I suppose I’m extremely sensitive to this topic because of what happened when I
was younger, and I guess it’s technically even happening right now. My parents have always tried to make me do what they wanted me to do when they were younger, and it sucked. It was a parallel to the story of the Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, without the making up part at the end.

  I loved music when I was younger, and after watching School of Rock, the Jack Black movie, I was determined to become a guitarist and a singer. I suppose that in a weird way, things worked out in the end because I secretly taught myself. However when I was around 6 or 7, they confronted me and gave me a choice between violin and piano. I cried myself to sleep that night because my mother had told me singing and playing guitar was too “girly”.

  And even as of now, as college loomed around the corner like an inevitable iceberg, I felt like the Titanic, slowing drowning in the cacophony of my own misery and madness because my parents wanted me to study computer science, and yet I don’t even know if I wanted to study it.

  Anyways, for that reason I just really disliked the people who followed blindly and the system itself. This rant of mine sounded rather quite like what people call teen rage these days, and I realized that as well. However, I don’t think of it as teen rage, and honestly, it vexes me how adults label adolescents as useless and not quite ready for the real world.

  I quite imagine myself as the personification of an adolescent without a phone.

  It was a play on a lyric from The 1975’s “This Must Be My Dream”, and honestly, that song is quite the perfect parallel if you twist your head and actually think about it, unlike most people. There’s syncopation between the lyrics and the deeper meaning that the band just achieves every time they create a new masterpiece for consumption that it’s just amazingly wholesome.

  The entire song literally reminded me of my life.

  One time, when I was younger, I thought about what it really meant to dream. Dreams are weird and fascinating at the same time because most of the time, we can’t control our dreams but we end up dreaming about the things that are most relevant to our current situations.

  Sometimes I dream about the intricate possibilities of the future, or of the past, or of what could’ve happened. Sometimes I replay things that happened just to get a better look at the bigger picture, and sometimes I rewind my own dreams just to keep sane from wanting to live in a delusional world arranged from fantasies.

  And I’ve tried chasing dreams in my dreams, but it’s harder then it seems.

  Another reference to The 1975’s “Woman.”

  I think dreams are important to me and maybe my existence as a human being because dreaming reminds me that I’m still me under all the bricks and the baggage everybody else has loaded on top of me. In dreams, although unconscious, I can still remember the fantasy world in which I caught a Pokemon, in which I actually asked Claire out on a date, in which I was a singer and a songwriter and that I was actually strong enough to do both things.

  I wondered what Claire dreamt of, and how she dealt with the fact that she was doing tennis as an EC even though she was strong enough to resist her parent’s will, and society’s path.

  That night, I rode home on my bike, still thinking about this.