So I just finished reading that book that the world was in an uproar because she plagarized. And now I have no doubts she plagarized. I think she had a message, but she didn't have the voice to say it in. So she used all the things in books and movies (and some from her life) that could help. But they weren't really hers.
So, now that I'm seventeen, I believe I have enough years under my belt to define myself.
Hi. I'm Lucia. Only people who really know me call me that. My name doesn't exactly fit, but neither does Aleks. But somewhere between Lucia and Aleks, it fits. I just have to adjust a bit.
I define myself by my aptitude in art and my blonde hair, and my pale skin, and my love for fashion, Sex and the City, the OC, Paris, and modern art. I think people define me by my eyes, my shyness, my aloofness. I'm not stuck up. I just only talk when I have something to say.
I've come to realise that life isn't about what firsts you've achieved or goals you've achieved. It's about how many times you really feel. Or for me, don't feel occasionally. For example, cool rainy saturdays and fresh coffee. Reading a really good book. Being midway through a good charcoal drawing (of a face) when it looks real. Photographs of beaches I took and memories of being with my family in San Fransisco. Remembering being with my brother in my room, me jumping on a trampoline, my parents fighting. Dancing drunk with french girls and not giving a fuck that I looked like an idiot. Finding my cowboy book Luella bag for five dollars. Lying creepily (and sweatily) with three of your best friends in my sweltering hot room, watching Brokeback Mountain, laughing insanely. Lying with three of my best friends in my bed before the premiere of the fourth Harry Potter movie. Getting a text message from a guy you used to like but now hardly know at midnight wishing me a happy birthday. Crying on a bateau-mouche on the Siene because Paris is too beautiful.
I like to write stories but I'd never show them to anyone. Not until they're good enough. I'm like that plagarizing Harvard girl. I have something to say, but I'm not quite sure of how I should say it. I'm using my own words, though. But now, they just don't fit right.
I like the progress of knitting. I like making my own clothes. I aspire to be Marissa Cooper/Carrie Bradshaw- sans drug problems. Or dying. I aspire to end up in life where I don't have to worry about money, rent, deadlines, where I make enough to get by and keep me happy but not so much were I'm lost. I aspire to have a gigantic walk-in closet.
I aspire to not care about what people think about me anymore, because everyone cares. People who deny it are just kidding themselves. But I'm a step closer to that point, I no longer have multitudes of bitchy things to say about people anymore. I'm staying afloat and liking it.