Nothing really bothers her.She just wants to love herself

I don't remember.

My mum does.

She told me that when I was younger (like knee height younger) I was asked what I wanted to be.

****

Now, a couple of weeks ago I attended a summer program and in one of the sessions they asked us the same question. What was your childhood dream?

We were given 15 minutes to draw our dreams on a sheet of paper and organize our thoughts to give a quick speech.

I found this one of the hardest tasks we were given.

Why?

Because even as I child I never took anything seriously.

I remember playing with my much older neighbour and pretending I was someone else.

I liked saying 'flowers' whenever our conversations took a serious turn, I can still see the cold glint in her eyes and hear her unspoken words:

'You're just a child you don't understand.'

I found it hard to deal with other people's feelings when I was not sure of my own.

I find it hard to express myself.

I find it even harder not to lie to myself.

Because I breeze through the day with a smile upon my face.

But when I face my pillow I repeat the same mantra I've been trying to convince myself:

Am I happy?

I am happy.

I am happy.

I am happy.

So back to the assignment we were given.

I did the natural thing.

I lied.

I drew a smiling me dressed as a vet surrounded by a bunch of weird (non-existed) animals.

And in the middle I wrote:

Compassion

Helping

Nature

Fun

Happiness

...

Another lie.

You see, those were not the goals of my younger self.

Those are not the goals of my older self either.

Those are just the values that a perfect me would choose.

Compassion?

According to the dictionary it mean:

Deep awareness of the suffering of another, coupled with the wish to relieve it.

I am confused.

I do feel it.

But as of recently I had trouble feeling anything of the sort.

Instead, I am quite good at reproducing it.

Especially when compassion and father come up in the same sentence.

Horrid.

Helping?

I am terrible at giving advice, I have no idea how to give a motivating speech and on no account do I know the things I should do when I am asked for help.

Instead, I just listen.

I don't talk because I am not good with words when I am actually required to speak.

So I stay quiet and let my own selfishness shine as the other party thinks that I lend a shoulder to cry on.

Because I am insecure and I fear rejection.

Nature?

As in animals and plants?

It's another exaggerated thing I do...

...I think.

I picked this thing up from someone who did it years before me.

I was sure that she was just trying to deceive herself and it was working.

She never realized.

She still does it.

But now I do it as well.

It's against nature what I do.

It's the most unnatural thing I do.

Fun?

Now this is something.

Here's what I do:
I read something that describes a good time between friends, or I see a movie that illustrates a deeply shared bond with another individual.

And I'm sitting in my room and just think:

When will I get to do that?

And I just wait.

And wait.

And fear that whatever may come, it'll pass silently by me because I am too aware and too restless.

Happiness?

How can you achieve something that can't be achieved by just yearning alone?

How can you hope for something that's unpredictable and may last only a few seconds?

How can you (I) tell the moment when you (I) are (am) truly happy?

How do you recognize it?

Do you work for it or you just wait for it to come to you?

I am undecided, disoriented and left with the feeling of wanting more and more and MORE.

So now that I feel like a peeled onion, I am back to my first forgotten mature dream.

My mum said I wanted to be a, and now brace yourselves:

a

street sweeper.

O.O

I kid you not!

And I've been wondering why?

If I were to take it into serious consideration than I'd naturally ask myself: what's the appeal?

But for that matter I have to shut off my now brain, and look into my history closet and put on my good old goldfish brain.

So here's what I came up with:

Pretty coloured fall leaves.

And that is my only explication.

I have this kind of thing that I imagine before I fall asleep (when my brain doesn't seem to get a hint). I don't know where I've seen it, must have been cartoons but anyway.

It was cold (like December cold) and the protagonist finds a stray mum cat and it's kittens in the street shivering.So he takes off his hat (it's a very nice looking top hat- the warmer version) and ushers the cat family in it. It's nice and cozy for them.And then before leaving he covers the hat with his muffler.

I imagine myself curled in a top hat feeling safe.

Yes!

That is my secret.

I must post this now, because I have the uncontrollable urge to delete everything I've written.

And I don't think that I'll ever have nerve or patience to write something like that about myself ever again.