Walls, curtains, and pre-prom syndrome
Before a recent rush of thoughts entered my mind, I have been completely content with the fact that I will not have a prom date. Why should I be in distress about this anyway? I’m a pretty independent person. I always open the door and carry my books all by myself. I never needed a sturdy hand to grasp my shaky one. Being tethered to someone was never really ideal to me. Some people praise this trait I have and wish they could be the same and keep somewhat of a guarded heart. Other people feel sorry for me and assume I’ll end up completely alone in life due to my walls. I think the latter is the result of my defensive personality and the fact that I build even higher walls when a boy thinks that I’m someone worth pursuing. In reality, the wall that is made to look strong and unmoving is truly a deceiving curtain.
I’ve painted that curtain to look as if it were a piece of the Great Wall of China. Made to keep a raging war out, however, not being able to protect me from the raging war inside. It’s not strong enough to block out the occasional lonely feeling, but it is great at fooling people of it’s stability.
As I scroll through Facebook and Instagram posts of people getting asked to prom, I think about how much it means to other people that they need a person to stand next to and take pictures with. When my curtain begins to shake these same thoughts consume my mind for a few minutes. I ask my friends why I’m not good enough to stand next to a boy a take pictures. The answer is usually along the lines of how I “intimidate” them. I’m sure this is something said to soothe me of my thoughts. I appreciate their attempts, but I see right through it.
When the time comes and I’m left in a giant lavender dress without a corsage or a boy to stand next to, I pray that I am relieved and find joy in the fact that someone won’t be holding doors for me and saying obligatory “prom terms” that are suppose to make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
"Every widow wakes one morning, perhaps after years of pure and unwavering grieving, to realize she slept a good night’s sleep, and will be able to eat breakfast, and doesn’t hear her husband’s ghost all the time, but only some of the time. Her grief is replaced with a useful sadness. Every parent who loses a child finds a way to laugh again. The timbre begins to fade. The edge dulls. The hurt lessens. Every love is carved from loss. Mine was. Yours is. Your great-great-great-grandchildren’s will be. But we learn to live in that love."
Currently reading this book and I must say, Jonathan Safran Foer never ceases to amaze me.