My Talent Show Writing

Well, here is one of the two things I read in the Session Two, 2000 Talent Show, with shaking limbs and teary eyes. Let me know what you think, comments are always loved!

~Jasmine~

Do you ever feel like you are a hundred different people all at once? Like you’ve been split too many times? Every moment of every day, I attempt to consolidate these various personalities of mine but in doing so, I only seem to manage to create and discover more. And nobody I’ve found has been able to meet and handle them all. Some days, I fight desperately to convince myself that I am a perfectly normal teenager. I love MTV, I falsely shout. Of course my closet is full of clothes from the Gap and Tommy Hilfiger apparel. I need makeup to be beautiful, because being beautiful attracts boys and obviously, that is every female’s ultimate goal in life. And indeed, each of these statements is temporarily true about me. There are some days that I look in the mirror and count flaws, searching for non-existent beauty. These are the days that I skip lunch, cry easily and paint my face with makeup; because you know what? Somehow, somewhere, this society has screwed over our age group. It has turned the majority of us into self-depreciating, depressed, brain washed shadows of people. And some days, I can’t help but to confess that I allow myself to fit into that stereotype. Then I really am a “normal” teenager.

I beg mentally, silently, for a boyfriend, when I am in that section of the broken off parts of me. I will do my hair, hike my skirt up a few more inches, do my best to flash a flirtatious smile at my nearest target. Mostly because I—like most girls my age have—been taught that having a boyfriend is the only way to prove your self worth.

I bounce endlessly from particle to particle of myself. I wonder inwardly—you, the random person behind me at checkout or beside me at the theatre. Are you a whole person? Or are you too a person built of fragments?

I want so badly to be a “good girl.” I love my parents, I like it when they are happy with me. But there is an equal urge to be a “bad girl.” Oh, aren’t those bad girls pined after, desired? Those fleeting moments of wanting to use the entire male populace.

I can’t escape my mature nature. The me-fragment that speaks eloquently, is able to freeze an adult with a college plus vocabulary, that can carry on as one much older than I am. “Oh, it’s like having a little adult in the room!” everyone used to say. Now, looking back, I realize—I didn’t want to be a ‘little adult.’ Obviously, no matter what I did, I couldn’t entirely be a child. They—everyone—the random person behind me in checkout or the one beside me at the theatre. They all used to tell me I was never childlike. At a young age, I had no grasp of that statement’s meaning. Now I know it was essentially another way to tell me that once again, I didn’t fit in. As a child, I was too mature. But I wanted to scream out “what the fuck age should I be?” Logically, now I should be an adult. But no, no, wait. No, NOW I’m in the teenage years where I’m supposed to be finding myself. Well, I found plenty of selves, didn’t I? Too many to damn well memorize. I turn around—Ah! Look! Another piece of me… how’d you get over there? Not that I was looking for you. I didn’t even know you existed. Welcome to the chaotic world of me! Oh look! You are the confident piece. No wonder I didn’t remember you, you’ve been gone so long. We had some good times, didn’t we? You are closely connected to the pretty piece, aren’t you? I still find it every few weeks, you know. It’s a thrill—looking in the mirror and seeing something I like staring curiously back out at me. You know, confidence—you and I had some great times together… me dancing around, singing and laughing, even though I knew I wasn’t talented in these areas. But who gives a damn, it’s only my room with a thousand me-fragments.

There’s the independent streak in me. I never lost that one. Some—hell, a lot of people say independence takes confidence but I beg to differ. The creative element never really left. I still write passionately, letting all that bottled up stuff uncork and spill out, splashing everyone. Just deal with it, I say to those that claim they want to stay dry. They are the ones that need to experience a near drowning.

I forgot how I split into so many parts. SO many. Is it just “typical adolescence”? I almost feel like I have multiple personality disorder. I didn’t mention the smaller pieces…the dare devil, slut, artist, baby, mother, angel, sinner, lover, hater, depressed, waif, sickly shadow, caretaker, traveler, photographer, confidante, liar, flirt, killer, singer, the savior. 100’s of me’s ungrounded, tacked to the velvety indigo blue curtain of the sky with safety pins. Rusty ones. Maybe when I’m taller, I’ll retrieve the likeable elements. Maybe I’ll grow wings. Maybe I’ll find new pieces. What am I sure of? Very little.

I do know that I am complicated . . . that I’ll collect some pieces. That I’ll survive

yay jasmine! thank you so much for putting that up!! *hugs* -marina

You are very welcome, babe!

Hmm, it seems like part of the writing is missing. There was some part with a line that went like: "Oh, confidence, there you are. I hardly remembered you, you've been gone for so long" (I know that isn't accurate, sorry) and it isn't on this page. -wanderlust

Oh...*laughs*... Actually, the version I read in the talent show was un-cut. It was straight out of my diary, no changes made whatsoever. And of course, as you know Eryn, as a writer, you feel compelled to edit and edit and edit...and so when I actually typed it up, I took out that sentence. But kudos to you for remembering it so well!

• Sighs....* Wow Jasmine, that was SO beautiful. When I read it, it startled me how familiar some of the things you said are to me. I've felt and continue to feel so many of them constantly. It's so wonderful to see someone share these kinds of feelings so honestly and bravely. You're awesome and eloquent!!!

~Becky~