Sunday, 12 January 2014

My Shell

In English class, we watched a video about a boy named Harry and how in Middle School, he was really shy and it shows how he overcame that shyness and had great success in life. His name was Harry Shum Jr. Yes, the guy from Glee. We were asked to write our thoughts about it, either on our blog or in our writer's notebook but I don't think that I want to write an actual review, instead, I am going to write a story based around his experience. Here is the video incase any of you would like to watch it. Anyway, here's the story I wrote and I hope you enjoy it!

The Rosewood Middle School doors swung open. It felt as if there was a strong wind blowing the most popular girl in school, Miranda's hair back. Her two followers stood on the side following her in the same stylish manner. Everything seemed too unrealistic until I walked in behind them wearing, what Miranda would call, rags but what I would call, actual clothes unlike Miranda who walks around in skin tight jeans and a bright pink, again skin tight halter top. But of course, I was way too shy to actually say something about it. She shoved me aside and continued on her walk on the runway, or in other words, a hallway.

I pushed my glasses up and continued down the hallway, invisible to everyone's eyes. I was someone who allowed everyone to push me around, tell me what to do but no one did. It's because I was invisible, I was the lost girl waiting to be found, someone who had so much in her mind but no one to share it with. Sometimes, I just wanted to be heard but it seems like no one around me cared, it seems like everyone was too busy with their own lives to see how my day was or what I did in school. But after 2 years of silence, I had learnt to live with the fact that I was a nobody, I was a girl who no one knew. I was the girl who would get through the day without making too much of an impact in the world around me, then hid behind my school books until dinner. After dinner, I would open up my diary and write down everything that came to my mind: ideas, thoughts, general things I noticed and most importantly my feelings. 

The white notebook decorated with my own special drawings meant the world to me. Everytime I felt like a piece of trash, I knew that diary was there for me, it was there to catch me when I fall and it was there to listen to me when I was upset. I treated it almost as a person, it had a special place in my drawer where it would sit with my fountain pen waiting for me when I for my daily writing time. To me, writing was like speaking and the diary was the listener. After spending two years without speaking unless I needed to, honestly, I think I forgot how to talk. I knew the language, but it felt as if I couldn't say a sentence without hesitating or stuttering. But when I wrote in my diary, the words flew out naturally, as if I have been holding back my mind the whole day until my pen touched the lined paper and the ink flowed out of it like a beautiful waterfall. No one except for me has ever laid eyes on my diary. It is a special item and I will not let anyone and everyone to read it.

My parents and brother are worlds opposite from me. My father is an outspoken man who makes a living by telling whiny old judges in the dusty courtroom that his client is not guilty and my mother is the gossip central of our neighborhood. Given the fact that she does not work, she spends her free time getting all the juicy stories from our neighbors and shares them with the whole world by posting it on Facebook. She says that she is "giving the public what they want" but obviously, I think she is an escapee from a lunatic asylum. Finally there's my brother, the "jock" of our school. Being the captain of our football team, he instantly gains popularity even though he is a complete idiot. According to him saying "Dude!" and "What's up man!" is cool. According to me, its pure nonsense, nothing else. I would say that I am outspoken but instead of saying anything and everything that comes to my mind, I write it.

So to sum it up, I am in a shell and unlike most people, I like my shell. Not only is it a safe and comfortable place, it's stable. It's like a land which I can mould it into a place where I want to be in. It's always there unless I decide otherwise. I only peek out of it, never do I come out of it completely. I know that it is not safe outside, I know what's out there and I don't like it. You can always find me in there, happy, I am never a sad, beaten up little mess. In many ways, my shell has made me stronger, I know that eventually I am going to completely step out of it but only when I am ready. The shell I have is getting me ready for the problems I face, the people I meet and the obstacles that come in my way. Rushing the process is just going to harm me in more ways than one. I know I may be shy now, but beating myself up about it and forcing myself to interact with the world around me before I am ready is nothing but damage. I may seem weak now but in reality, I am the strongest person around. Everyday, going through the hallway, no one to say hello to doesn't make me feel unwanted. Being shy is a cover story. It is like a fake identity, it is who I am to most people but in reality, I am different. I prefer writing rather than speaking, hiding rather than being found. "People change, they grow" is something that always stuck with me. It reminds me that eventually, when I am ready, I am going to change and I will be ready to show the world the bright light I have been hiding inside of me for a long, long time.