Someday, I will write the story of my life in plastic cups.
Thirsty people will pour water into my first day of school, lemonade into the time I almost drowned, cola into the day my dog died. At parties, strangers will drink memories of my best friend and recollections of life before my mom and dad were divorced. Before bedtime, children will rinse their teeth with my tears and the discovery of my passion for learning and the scary movie I should not have seen before going to sleep.
Someday, I will write my hopes and dreams on scraps of paper.
Teenagers will solve mathematics problems above the day I join the Peace Corps and the names of my children. Winking playfully, a woman will scribble her telephone number on top of the day that I am finally able to go to India, and hand it to a handsome, smiling man. A bored secretary will doodle next to my romanticized notion of adventure.
For once, I will be more than myself. I will have an impact on strangers; I will be desired and imperative and useful. Though disposable, I will make a difference.
Until then, I am my life story, my hopes and dreams, manifest in the body of a young woman too seemingly plain for anyone to think twice about.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Well written. Youve captured emotion in a way that anyone with a soul would be able to relate to.
ReplyDelete-Tay
I really like it. It's very poetic. I like how it's a mixture of past and present, and the vividness of the little glimpses of the lives of the people that use the cups and paper.
ReplyDeleteBtw.. I thought about you more than twice today. :)