I WANT TO WRITE A BOOK

I was a little girl when I realised I wasn`t going to live forever. I`m going to die one day, lie in a grave somewhere and be gone. My feet won`t carry my body anymore, and nobody will be able to find me on this earth. There`ll be no blood running inside my body, and I will no longer be able to make the world a better place.

That is, if I leave no pieces of me, no words written by me or no footsteps for the world to see.

I`ve always wanted to write a book. A book about feelings and lived lives. A book which makes people shake their head, which makes them laugh, which makes their stomach ache because they can feel everything so purely. I want people to feel like they`ve gained everything and nothing, when they finish the last page. I want to make people cry, I want people to feel the sadness so much, that the sadness itself makes them want to cry. I want to inspire, I want to touch, I want to leave something. I need to know the day I die, that I? I`ve left something for people to read and to feel. I need to know I`ve been honest with not only myself, but other people, in order to help someone who might believe they`re the only ones encountering something. Who`re in a situation they believe no one else can understand.

So? One day I`ll tell about the 8-year-old girl who didn`t want to sleep and cried at nights because she was too scared to die. I`ll tell about little me, who met her way too old step-grandfather and wondered if his body was going to fall apart if she dared to touch him once. I`ll tell about a little girl in the kindergarten who played with an African little boy most of the time and once put all of her mum`s make-up on her face. I`ll tell about all the times she jumped on the trampoline in her garden and felt like nobody could ever harm her. About the 12-year-old me who came home, furious and sad, because she was tired of being bullied. I`ll tell about a girl at 14 who was told to go and kill herself, by people she considered to be her friends. I`ll tell about a girl at 19, who saw her grandmother dead. I`ll tell about a little girl who found her relatives laughing, when they when asked what she wants to do when she grows up and received “I want to be a author” as an answer.

I`ll tell about the pain and joy behind this smile.

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IT`S A LITTLE MORE SPECIAL THIS YEAR

I wish I was in Amsterdam today, because it`s Anne Frank`s birthday. She would`ve been 88 years old.

You left a diary, which made you world-famous. You expressed your thoughts, feelings and dreams to your friend “Kitty”. Despite the circumstances, you dreamed about a future. You wanted to travel to Paris and London and study history. You loved history. You wanted to be a journalist and/or a writer. Let`s face it – you knew you could die, but you also knew you could survive and live on. Unfortunately you died, but Miep saved your diary and gave it to your lovely dad, whom chose to publish it, despite the criticism he received. So many years later, people still find your diary inspirational and motivational. I found out about you in sixth grade and you`ve been there ever since then.

Thank you for everything you`ve done for me and everyone else. You died too young, but you left your voice, you left a melody that`s still played all over the world. To me, you symbolize love, hope, courage and dreams. Thanks for never giving up and for refusing to die. Happy Birthday, Anne.

Your birthday has always been special to me, but this year it`s a little more special. I can`t wait to see your hiding place and be a little nearer you. 

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PAPER IS MORE PATIENT THAN MAN

Today I caught myself thinking “maybe I`ve spent too much time on this earth”.

I`m aware I`ve often been in different moods whenever I`ve blogged. And I`m also aware me thinking that maybe doesn`t make any sense to you if you`ve followed me for a while, considering that I`ve written about my fear of death.

Today`s not been the best day. I mean, it`s been an okay today, but I just can`t help, but wonder about human beings. Human beings can be the nicest, yet the scariest species. I don`t know how many I`ve trusted and given a part of me to people, when they didn`t care as much as I did. I don`t consider myself a victim, but I just find it sad. It`s sad how many of those we love the most, hurt us the most. It`s sad how sometimes, those who tell us they love us so much, abandon us. It`s tragic how we trust someone so much that we hardly can imagine our lives without them, and they find so many reasons to leave us. I`m sure I have my mistakes and flaws too – who doesn`t? But I try my very best to keep my promises and I`ve always been more worried about other people`s happiness. I try my best to keep others happy and even if I end up hurting someone, I feel so bad about it. It could be the tiniest thing and I wouldn`t be able to sleep at night. Really annoying, but in a way that`s good. I criticize myself for the smallest things – but of course I keep that criticism to myself, as most wouldn`t understand anyways.

I feel like I give so much to people – or at least I try, and get way too little in return. Just lately I realised that it might be because of the small things – little things matter to me. You don`t need to do much to make me happy – just the “same old”. Be there for me, care about me, accept me as I am, give me peptalks now and then and listen to me. Beside that, you don`t need to do much at all to make me happy. Give me a book and I`ll be excited. Especially a book about Anne Frank or a history book – I`ll love you a little more than I love everyone else. Give me a smile, a hug or a fountain pen. (Yep, that`s where you`ve got me). That reminds me – I remember something that happened in ninth grade. This girl gave me a hug and I started crying. And she asked me why I was crying and I wasn`t able to say anything. I was sad at that time, but I appreciated that hug so much, that I got sentimental.

I wonder why so many haven`t been wanting to be with me and I also wonder how people can be so mean. Sometimes it doesn`t work out, but it gets more brutal when the other person leaves you in the darkness and you don`t really know what you`ve done. It makes me sick that humans can do that to someone. It leaves me “amused” and speechless how some can act so reckless. But I try to comfort myself by thinking that maybe it hurts them as much as it hurts me. Maybe they have sleepless nights too. Who knows?

I`m afraid to have too little time on earth, so me thinking that I might have been here for too long, is odd, but I do feel like an old soul who`ve met way too many weird and mean people. Most of today these thoughts occupied my mind, but usually I tell myself that no matter what humans do, they`re good deep down. It might feel like I`ve been here for too long, but the truth is: I`m an old soul. Many people, and then especially grown-ups, believe young people like me barely has any life-experience. Sorry to say it, but I`m almost 20 and young people like me experience a lot and of course there`s a lot more to come.

I know I love humans, but I just have my days where I don`t really like humans and I need to think about certain things all alone. I get so shocked and upset about certain people`s behaviour, because I`m not able to wrap my head around it. At those days, I shake off my worries and thoughts through writing. No matter what, I`ll always find something very true. “Paper is more patient than man”. I don`t think I need to tell you who said that, but it really is true. Paper will always listen, but there`s no guarantee humans will do the same. Maybe that`s the problem. On this journey called life, I`ve met many, found many and lost many, and all along paper was more patient. I remember there was this guy in my class, who said “diaries don`t talk”. Oh, you don`t say, Sherlock. Yeah, paper doesn`t reply, but sometimes all you need is to let it out. You need to pour your heart out. Humans might not be there to listen, but paper always will. And no matter how many years go by, I`ll always return to paper and pen. tumblr_o2g8kmmXTL1v5doako1_500.jpg

SHOULD I KEEP THIS BLOG?

I started this blog as a project for my English class. I didn`t have to keep blogging after November/December, but I wanted to, so I kept writing. Now as this school year is over, I`m thinking whether I should keep this blog or not.

For me it`s been great, because I`ve received so many nice words and comments because of this blog. In the beginning it was weird for me to even have one person read my blog, so I`m extremely thankful to everyone who`ve read my blog, left a comment or sent a message to me because of something they`ve read here. The first weeks I posted about specific topics where I shared my opinions or thoughts. Now I do that, along with posts where I share a little of my life with you guys. I love blogging, as I love writing and I love to receive nice feedback. This blog has also given me some opportunities I never thought I`d get, so this place really means something to me.

But, I`m not sure if I should keep this blog or not. My mind`s confusing me. I want to, but I`m not sure. One of the reasons why I decided to keep this blog, was my readers. So, should I keep this blog? If so, what would you like me to write about? What do you want to see more of on this blog? 2014-03-18 11.00.32

 

DON`T TELL ME I NEVER WARNED YOU

I don`t know if you, who`re reading this, know this. But I want to write. I want to become an author. And for several months, yeah, perhaps we`re even talking years, I`ve been having this really great idea. I imagine astonishing scenes in my head, they appear right in front of me as if they`re real and I try to understand what it`d be like if I were a part of it all. I have so many thoughts and feelings that are waiting inside me. Do you know what the truth is? I want to start writing my first book right now or maybe next year.

In my culture and environment, being an author is nonsense to many people. I`ve been told by people, especially by aunties that women shouldn`t work, but if they absolutely have to they should do something great. You don`t earn anything by writing novels and poems. Writing is useless, no one has ever come far by writing. Yeah, because Shakespeare, Charles Dickens and Anne Frank are people that never have existed, right? I`ve been told to stop dreaming. It`s better if I stay at home and learn how to cook. My place is in the kitchen. It`s by the way a shame for girls to be “out there”. Her face shouldn`t be on covers. No no, that`ll ruin her reputation, not to mention her family`s honour. tumblr_nz2atbFq601r8xs2bo1_500

I`ve been wanting to be a writer for years. As a little girl, I used to draw a lot. Then I found out that God had given me a gift. No, two gifts. Pen and paper. I started writing and I`ve been writing ever since then. This blog is perhaps only a tiny part of it all. I write a lot that I don`t share with anyone. I keep a lot to myself.

Nobody can stop me from following my dreams. I might be a little quiet today, but I won`t remain quiet forever. So dear “aunties” and “uncles” who`re trying to stop me from pursuing my dreams, who`re trying to tell me they`re unreachable and useless – you`ll never be able to stop me. Try as much as you want to, but you`ll never be able to rule over me. You`ll never be able to mute me. Too bad I don`t care as much as you want me to. I`ll walk by and wink at you. Don`t worry, I won`t starve my husband and my eventual kids to death, but II`ll always be writing and one day you`ll find a book I`ve written in the shops. I`ll write books about whatever I want to, yeah, maybe about what people like you do.

Don`t tell me I never warned you.