We as individuals, started as blank papers and, gradually each of our papers will be then decorated by colors and stains. That thought strikes me when I walked into the bookstore. “Damn,” I hissed in pleasure because the smell of the books were slowly filling into both of my lungs. I walked to my favourite section of the bookstore and started to pick up some books that might interest me before I would finally purchase them.
As I continued to walk around the store, I took a few glances at the people wandering around here. “Funny,” I thought. My mind started its own thing again. My brain started to formulate thoughts that were of course didn’t really matter, but then doing this thing always amazed me. The reason why the word ‘funny’ came out was because of how this bookstore could have hundreds of people coming in and out. Each of us here had different backgrounds, different races, different skin tones and probably we also had different mother tongues. But we could be here, having the same color painted on our papers as we came across this bookstore, and more colors added as we came across each other.
After I came home, I straightly went to my room and immediately got the books out from the paper bag. I decided to read ‘I’ll Give You The Sun’ by Jandy Nelson first, apparently this book has won many awards and it caught my attention with the cover which was in a shade of orange. As I flipped through the cover, I was reminded by the thought that I had when I was in the bookstore. If we individuals were papers, I would be the type of paper which we usually use to write essays; the type of paper which we use to take notes as I was easily influenced, just like how the paper would sway and crumble even when we gave it so little force.
I kept flipping through the pages of the book as my eyes followed the tiny words that were printed on it. Funny how different people have different kinds of paper when we all started from zero before we started our journey in life. That was the thing about human, we keep on developing, building walls, thickening and polishing our papers in order to prevent things that could give us unremovable, permanent scar on our lives.
The people who surrounds me always telling me the same thing. “What a good life that you’re leading.” and some goes like, “I wish I was you,” et cetera. To tell you the truth, being me wasn't actually all fun, all enjoyable because you know how people just put on a facade and only decided to show people what they wanted to show. Little that they know, the papers of some of those were already crumbled, torn to pieces.
I wanted to believe that I had a good life, because of all the love and support that I’ve received endlessly, and I constantly remind myself that good things wouldn't come easily, people come and go, the road would be long, but there was one thing that I know for sure: even though the paper of mine was weak, the thing that I could do was to decorate it so it could be full of vibrant colors, just like a great painted canvas.
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that was a writing that im going to submit tomorrow for english lmao i thought it was kinda cool and im actually q proud of it so i'll just post it up here bc why not???