Yes, I know this is my third post in one night, but the other two don't count because they were re-blogged and not my own writing. Anyway, I recently bought a book titled Mortified. It's a compilation of old journal entries sent in by various people, for pure entertainment of the reader. One journal entry, however, resonated with me. It was written by an eighth grader to her "future self", and here is an excerpt:
"Are you scared of being a shadow? Is you heart not easily broken?
Are you still me?
When no one is home, do you sing your heart out till it hurts? Have you still the secret desire to dream alone?
When was the last time you defined yourself on a dreary day as a pebble furrowed in dark, hard clay?
Are you still me?
Are you who you want to be?
Just how much have we changed, myself? Are you quite sure you've grown up at all? Are you still me?"
I wonder if I am still me, sometimes. I am true to myself to a fault. But, especially now, I think I have compromised some of my morals (some of my essential self) in my search for something. And that is excessively vague, I know. :)
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