For better or for worse
Since I was a little girl, I was told that to be a good person is to respect the rules. To be a good person is to speak nicely to others. It is to act nicely, it is to behave. Boy have I tried. But the more I grow up, the more I start to wonder what it is that I am. I know what a good person is supposed to look like, I know how a good person should talk and behave. But what about me? Nobody ever taught me to be me.
My head was filled with cinderella’s dreams. She wanted a prince to save her so I wanted one to save me. My mother wanted me to have nice grades so I that’s what I wanted too. Up until recently I thought I knew what I wanted, I thought I knew the goals and the dreams I had. I thought they were mine. But aren’t you supposed to be happy when you achieve YOUR goals? YOUR dreams? So why wasn’t I happy?
Maybe, just maybe, those dreams weren’t mine. Maybe those goals weren’t mine.
Maybe I had reached everybody else’s expectations, except for mines.
So I tried to get to know me. It wasn’t easy, I was really hard to figure out. Did I really love pink? Or was it just because all the princesses I grew up with had pink dresses? Then I found out I don’t have one favorite color. I love them all. I love the shades of every color and the new ones you can create.
Did I really want a prince to save me? I wasn’t sure. What was a prince? Was it the armored one on a horse? Brave enough to climb a tower to save me? Or could it just be my dad? I would run to hug him everyday when he came back home. Every day, he brought bread on the table. He brought stories. He brought values. No matter how difficult life was for him, I never once saw him unhappy. He never brought life’s pain into our home. He left it all out so he could be our sunshine. And we could be his. That’s the kind of prince I now knew I wanted. Oh, and I can save myself. That tower isn’t rocket science. If he could climb up, I most certainly could climb down myself.
Did I really care what the world think of me? No. I know my mum does. Of course she does. She loves me so much, and obviously wants the best for me. But I don’t care what the world thinks of me. I don't care that heels make me look more beautiful. I love flats. Sue me. I care what I think of me. I care that I live up to the queen my mother is and the king my dad was. That is all I care about.
Now my dreams? Still trying to figure out what they are. One of them is being remembered as me. Not as what the world wants or expects me to be.
My goals? I am sure one of them is to be happy. Every second of my life. I don’t want to waste a minute being anything or anyone else than myself.
I want to be able to shake that booty till dawn and still work to make the world a better place. Why is it that I couldn’t have both? Why do I have to be in a box? Why would tattoos and piercings make me dumb? Why would swearing make me less noble than anyone else? Didn't Judas look like a priest? Yet he turned out to be an ass.
I don’t believe in all that. I believe that dignity, humility and kindness are the qualities that make a decent human being. I value being over having. I value honesty over good appearence. I believe I can achieve anything and be everything I want. I believe in being my true self. For better or for worse.