When I was a little girl, I believed that stars would make dreams come true. I believed that every person had a special star assigned to them that listened for their voice, and always heard it even when it got lost in the chaotic sounds of the world. I’d wish to my star to grant me the gift to touch the world. Song was the only way I could reach out to those around me, and when I sang I felt untouchably beautiful and attainable all at once. My desires and needs escaped my lips in familiar melodies; my deepest secrets were revealed to the tune of “Hit Me Baby, One More Time.” I felt a surge of electrostatic power in my voice, but only through my song.
The time came when I hit the age of 10, and stumbled across mutual infatuation for the first time. This proposed love of my life was my world. I spoke to him roughly nine times in our seven month relationship. Then, in the most cliché and inevitable way, all wondrous things came to a sudden halt. My glorious love of the fifth grade class broke my heart. Pangs of emptiness filled my heart and it was as if my throat had closed. I had no song to sing for I couldn’t verbally produce coherent thoughts or creative hums of beautiful music. The truth would not break free from my silence.
Alone in troubled thoughts, I struggled for a way to express my emotions. At 10, no rational explanation for my love lost came to mind. With little faith, I turned to my beloved star for help. I cried out to this particular brilliant, dazzling star and wished to find one outlet that I could be passionate about. Although no luminous magic filled my room directly after, I did notice the most typical yet extraordinary sight. In the corner of my room sat a fuzzy, blue diary my sister had given me for my birthday that I had yet to unwrap from its plastic cage. On the front cover was a sparkling star with a fake but gleaming gem, and I took this to be a gift from my special star. I unwrapped the diary, picked up the feather pen that came with it, flipped to the first page, and began to write.
The only goal I want to achieve in my lifetime is to be heard. As a young girl, I desperately thought my voice could only be found in music. However, that day I began to write, a dramatic shift occurred. I found great joy in exploring my thoughts, emotions, relationships, and dreams in stories and monologues. Soon I heard other characters in the back of my mind, all a part of me and all begging to be released onto my paper. I examined my words and was astonished by the realness, the bravery, the honesty, the maturity, and the complexity. Finally, my words felt beautiful all on their own, without the help of a radio tune. It had come to my realization that a song is nothing without radiant, influential lyrics.
In hindsight, I see that the stars did not bring me those gifts; rather, they were within me all along. That’s the funny splendor about life; it always seems to take irrational belief to reveal reality. Over the years I have written out many thoughts, stories, plays, lyrics, poems, and even raps that have entered my mind. My dreams of the path I want to take are constantly changing, but I do feel in my heart that it is everything I am to speak on paper. Living in a prison of cowardice and silent murmurs, where no imaginative feelings are expressed, would be the most unfulfilled life I could envisage for myself. I hope to inspire the world with my language as the mysterious, glittering stars inspired me.
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