Time went fast till I was a coffee-drinking teenager- then time went slow. I had nothing to do. I didn't know whether to prioritize what I want to do or school. I always thought I didn't get to farm my specialties and talents (assuming there were any) because of school, but when there wasn't any school I just goofed around the whole day; insignificant enough to not to keep inside my brain what I did and how I did it. When I matured a little and got thoughts of my own, I thought of dropping out which I didn't of course, after checking up with reality.
For the most of the time- I wanted to be a writer, and for the part where I didn't- I wanted to be an artist, scientist (it went away fast when I got an f in physics), and mechanic (I never had the hand for it), baker, photographer or someone who made cute or huge things out of woods (not furniture) (although I thought of fixing furniture for a fair share of times). I was settled with the idea that I will have to choose something else to cover up if I am writing badly. In other words, I needed to have two careers- one main and another- also main. The problem was the thought that "writers don't earn much money if they don't write good" which was true, and what guarantee was there that I'd write good? I only sometimes gave small writings in the school magazine or the after school program I went to.
I remember realizing, "I have too much to say, so I say nothing," when I was a kid and I sort of settled this on my brain. I had trouble catching up with my thoughts (not to brag) so I scattered my ideas everywhere. I hated scattered things and still do, but I forgot to put them in place, so a lot of ideas vanished.
The first thing I bought for myself as a kid (which I remembered as first) was an earring. It was a soft bowl-shaped and upside-down bowl with the thin side was connected to the hook and the wider part- down. And the up part- had the sort of edge we see in plates and under bowls- the kind of two circles dabbed down. I still have the earrings, and it was too heavy for a kid and a bit pricey too. It was a exhibition, so we got good discount of 25%, and stomped feet for my to buy it. I wanted to tried it at the exhibition but mom said it would get lost and my ears will get torn if I put it there (which later I got over it), so we bought beef jerkys and crackers and bought some tie-dye shirts and huge hats and donuts. My aunt said the hat made me disappear but I kept it my head the whole time so it would be hard to get lost.
Later in my teenage years, mom suggested that I should go to fashion school but I was appalled by the idea of "sewing around". I had some dolls that I had sewn and some little flowers on my jeans and a corner of my baseball cap. But other than that- I thought it would make me sweaty and my head ring all the time. Fashion school was money, and fashion designing was money too. But then when college came, I chose something famous and safer like medical school- which choked the stars out of my eyes in a few years and I never ever thought of going back; even started to head to the gym so I never have to go back. It was child-like paranoia somehow.
Soon when I was eight, I entered a phase of adapting to the writer; they just read a book off; and I'm still carrying that phase. I searched how I could publish things on a weekly or monthly basis on my own without going through the whole book-signing and running-to-publishers thing (the fun part); and rather just simply put out to see if they are any good. there was this one website where people wrote and read; but there were so many awful stories but someone's gotta start somewhere. My interest in publishing it there because it made me feel like I almost wrote as bad as the stories published (which I kind of did) but it hurt my pride. I made my mom and dad read my stories and they told me they were good enough to be in the newspaper, and my dad knew a guy who could get this on paper real quick. When dad made the call and we sent it by the ancient way of tying it on the foot of doves, we waited 2 weeks till we saw a part of it on the paper- after they cut most of the part because there were allegedly "too many writings". I cried and dad called him again- to which the guy said it will be published as part two tomorrow. I was instantly hopeful and I was ready to forgive the newspaper people if they really published part two. They did, and I was waiting for an interview with people with big mics asking "Ms. Seline, how did you write such good stuff at such a young age?" That interview came 30 years later. I was ready to even explain how my name was spelled say-lin not like celine or feline, but I then figured it was actually pretty clear.
For quite a while I thought if I would ever publish my diaries too- and it was appealing and scary at the same time. People would get to know who I was, but they would know my whole life and it would basically feel like naked. It still scares me, I don't know how celebrities do it.
But I wanted to know what people thought of me or how they saw me. I needed to know what "vibe" I gave off, and did they actually get me for the person I was- were they aware of what eating that specific brand of chocolate added to my character or why I liked this specific sound; or if they got what liking this specific scent added to my personality and if showed what kind of person I am. I wanted someone to pick me out in pieces and analyze me and write me a report. but I also never got the courage to ask anyone to do so.
I gave the random butterflies that came to our house smiles; so that they transform and go like "hey i've been watching you and only you have been kind to me" or put the cockroach on the right side when it was upside down so that one day it goes to god and tells him that I was an good and probably and interesting person.