Isn't it surprising how a hug can break a barrier down between two people? No matter how awkward? Or how close? How the act of wrapping your arms so close and feeling the beating heart tells the story of another?
Young Writers Project--or YWP--is an amazing place. If you are a writer, painter, or any other kind of creative entrepeneur, this place is a wonderful outlet. In a world where children like me don't have much of a voice or a say in anything, it is so amazing that we can actually state our opinions, be heard, and even published! It gives us a segway into becomingmore serious with our writing and it gives us motivation. And not only that, but we have a supportivecommunity where people will actually remark and comment back on your work with feedback that helps.
Stop. Please. I get it. I'm just one of the other kids in the room with a presentation on something historical--the Jonestown Massacre of 1978, and you're an older adult who probably came here because his wife convinced him he should see their kid's presentation. Walking around as if you're riding upon a grand, high-horse with your head so far up in the sky you're not getting enough air. And the stupid way you seem to have tanned your bald patches all over your head, and your stupidly-tight blue argyl sweater-vest. The only thing I could possibly detest more are boys my age, who comb their hair to one side in order to mimic Justin Bieber, their snarky idol, who they have presumbly learned to snidely trash people from. My God.
"It was the most brilliant shade of blue I'd ever seen," remarked Ai, her dark brown eyes gleaming happily as if they were still in the bejeweled chamber, azure and opaline blues dancing off her face. "Wow," replied one of her friends. "I'd have loved to go there." "Did you bring any of the stones back?" asked another. You could have seen her giddy excitedness at the thought of that. Suddenly Ai was drawn back out of her mind's imagery. "Wha-? Oh. Oh, no, you can't. You have to leave them there." "Why? That's stupid," said the same girl as before, in a tsky tone. Ai shrugged. She remembered how disapproving the old guide had looked when she had asked the same question awhile back. Breaking off the conversation, a school bell rang. The school girls waved goodbye, and broke up into their separate ways. They had exams to study for, anyways. "See you at lunch!" called out Ai. "Yup!"
Look, I already know that lots of people probably aren't going to have to like what I have to say, but just know this: before I was fully aware of what was really happening in Syria, I thought it was smart just to have a limit to the number of refugees we let in. But how is that really going to answer our problems? "Oh yeah, let's just let in ten thousand . . . " Blah, blah, blah. And I do know that there are some people helping out "refugees" (they're actually people, get this!) but there's just not enough. As far as I can tell, nothing really is making an impact, despite howe everyone loves to "think positive". This isn't something about thinking positive! There are lives at stake. This is turmoil. This is war.
Hey you, I know you're out there, I've seen you all the time. I even saw you the other night at the theatre--in fact, that was the last place I saw you, last. . . what was it? Last May? I forget, but I guess it doesn't really matter anyways. I highly doubt you ever think of me. But I just wish there could have been a reason why, rather than you just dropping off of the face of the world, in friendship means? I understand that when you get to middle school, your friends shift around and you get better acquanted with some while moving on from the others. But for the first few months when you moved to your new school, we were friends. And now we're not.