Who am I? I wrote in my journal. It was blank paged, with no lines, no restricting lines to guide my way. I will pave my own road; I don’t need a pre-written path.
I didn’t know who I was. I was a girl, a boring, bookworm-y girl who hadn’t yet discovered herself. It was rainy that morning. A blanket of melancholy draped across my shoulders, like a boulder weighing down my happiness. How was it that the rain commanded me? I tried to be happy, but I couldn’t.
The walk to school was enjoyable. I was privileged to walk in the rain, with a thin, yellow umbrella above my head. The clean, fresh air awakened my senses and coaxed my thoughts to run smoothly in my mind. Walking was a great way to think, and all I did was think. I spied a sapling, underneath pine straw and crumpled leaves. It was peeking through the surface, weak and crying for sunlight. I was going to be late for school, but I didn’t care. I pushed aside the surroundings of the sapling. I stood and brushed the soil on my hands on my jeans. I felt a sense of pride, I had helped a life.
“I don’t suppose there’s a good reason for being late”, said my teacher, Mr. Walters, as I walked in. The class was already seated, ready to begin. I eased a struggling life, I thought in my head, but instead I said, “No, Mr. Walters”