[Written in the perspective of a 16-year-old self]
“Take your life seriously,” the teacher scolded.
I hated to think she was scolding, because I try to avoid beef as much as possible, but truth be told. She, in fact, was shouting. But that’s not what drove the inner anger in me. There was something about this statement which ticked my time bomb. I hated it. I hated every bit of it. I am satisfied in the looms of my messiness, my highs, my passion and beauty and taste and creation and rebellion and emancipation – who is she to tell me how to live?
Take my life seriously?
She cocked her head back and swished her mane of hair off her shoulders. Although what she said was orthodox, it sounded completely alien to me. Word vomit has to happen at some point.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
“What part?” she raised a brow.
“The whole part. The whole package of “taking my life seriously.” What is serious about this life? Bukowski said it himself, it’s a death party. First, there’s only one way to get a high math grade, and that’s if I break my neck. Isn’t it damn-right clear I have ADHD? Damn, okay, so I don’t think there’s anything called “Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder,” but I can confirm to you that I can’t concentrate and that I like to run around screaming my head off – in happiness – that I got a C+ in chemistry. So, how do you take life seriously, miss? Walking in line? Fly the same wavelength? Conformity, is that it? Depressing my self to the point of self-hate over the useless things this curriculum has to teach me? Or is it A 9-5 job? Is it rushing to get the latest iPhone in store? Voting between two evils? And if I reject everything, suddenly I’m a creepy hippie who does weed and lives on food stickers? Or is it ripping my poems, drawings and paintings into pieces because the world doesn’t acknowledge of the fact that man is born to be both the marble and the sculptor? Do you even know this? Do you even know that creative passion dies because of teachers like you tell us to take everything seriously?
I’m sorry, I’ll never do that to myself. I love and value my life too much to take it seriously. “
And after this train of thought, dear Mona never took her life seriously.