I Am A Storybook Character

My co-star has said twice that no-one cares how many books I’ve read… I disagree.

The trouble with giving yourself a pep talk is that deep down, you know it’s all bullshit.

Sophie Kinsella, Remember Me?

I’m about to spout some nonsense right here but hey, I need this. This blog thing, it’s for my mental health. The last time I felt this emotionally drained, I whipped out my laptop and typed my feelings (in a surprisingly non-bitter way). All you have to do is sit there and read, so grab a hot beverage, I recommend lemon and honey tea.

This is my third consecutive week that has had my mind scaling from things I could consume to become inebriated, to the things that would consume me and I how I could speed up that process (please don’t call emergency services, I am fine)

I hate it here. It’s so simple to say but it’s not saying enough. I want to cry and dissolve into a puddle of tears but also why should I cry because I’ve been backe dup into a corner? Why should I waste my tears when I know I’m about to bust down the blockade?

I used to be a very aggressive person growing up and regularly took that out on my sister. My mum wasn’t having it and she was exactly the kind of figure that could get me to do a complete turnaround and begin this poisonous passive-aggressive program (wow, alliteration); which my brain has begun to use to seek sympathy. The hard shell I can sometimes be is squirming right now at how pathetic I am.

I am a storybook character. All I ever wanted while growing up was to have a life as entertaining as that. I wanted to go on adventures and to fall into deep, conflicting romances with boys that were low-key terrible but dashing. Now my life isn’t exactly as intense or dramatic (who knows, by my 50th post, you may beg to differ) but I have evolved into the thing I was pining after and interestingly enough, I don’t hate it.

You see everyone has their part to play and it has become apparent to me that my part is the one who’s name makes it to the front cover of the book (yes, I am that girl). It’s a good thing and a bad thing, I’m not here to moan about how hard it is to have so many fans/haters, I don’t care about that (haha, I do) and I don’t want you to think I do. What I care about is the story that makes it to the pages, dahling.

In an interview for a place in the school’s Honors program (I really had no idea I was in the Honors program until the end of last semester, I thought I was just applying to a program that would let me take this class on racism and memory), I was brandished as accomplished. I was surprised honestly. And maybe I shouldn’t be? I am accomplished, but I just felt like I still have so much to do. Even now, I struggle to allocate my time between all the things I so badly want to be good at, I feel like the kind of girl Sophie Kinsella would write about.

If you haven’t read any of the Confessions series then go grab a copy ASAP, and pick up Wedding Night while you’re at it.

I feel blessed that I’ve been able to dabble in as much as I have but I’m always hungry for more. That’s the difference between me and most others, I’d choose anxiety and too much work any day over a whole month of vacation.

Maybe not right now, a vacation would sound nice.

But it’s hard to be a storybook character you know? This is not supposed to sound ingenuine, it really is. Being a story book character means you get a big, fat pimple right on your nose just when your skin’s clearing up and you’re about to do a photoshoot. In my version of events, it was a nasty breakout around my forehead, jaw and other places. Being a storybook character means shooting yourself in the foot the one time you got the attention of literally one of the most beautiful men alive.

I shudder, when I think about that day.

In that case you’d think everyone is a storybook character right? Because we all have the same experiences? Of course! Where do storybook characters come from? The minds of human beings. How can movies be fake if our lives aren’t? We’re telling the story of our lives, of human life, through long, elaborate metaphors. Superhero movies are real and you know this because you either just fought another battle against the villains in your life or your somewhere in the second act and you’ve had a little victory; which you think will last and your sidekick will try and desperately warn you before it’s too late, but you’ll ignore them and take a shot anyways.

We are all storybook characters, some just end up on the cover page and some are hidden in between the pages. But hey, everybody will play their part in the stories of our lives and we’ll play different parts in the stories of other people’s lives.

It’s just what we do.

What I’ve learned from the past two weeks is that I should be more aggressive. I should take up space and then demand more space, I should put my thoughts and opinions out there and stop watching out for toes that I could accidentally step on, I should step on more toes and adjust my feet so that I’m crushing them even more. It sounds funny and silly yes, but as a black woman it is the single most important thing you can carry with you every day.



P.S: So I tried the google translate feature on my blog to see if it was any good and wow wow wow. I translated it into German; which I really don’t know enough of to be boasting about it like this, but I could tell that most of it was quite accurate. I love that for us.

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