Autobiography- A

                    A for Art
              Art is either the light strokes of a 2B pencil, or the phrases from William Shakespeare. Art is a creative way of expressing yourself; it is a way of showing others how your perspective works. Art is my fiancé, and one day, when the time is right, we will bear numerous children with ink for eyes and cheeks coloured with pink crayons. Art is not for dreamers. It’s for those who crave excitement and a world, God knows, could be real.  But art doesn’t need to be perfect to be amazing; you just need to put your heart into it. ‘Give it your best’, like my parents always say. And when you’re done, let the world see your creation; the offspring of your Multi-coloured pencils and hard work.
              Art is important to me because it lets my demeanours hear me as I am. I won’t fall down, even if they would throw me rocks or cut me with words sharper than knives. That reminds me, art is also made up of voices, melodies and instruments creating tunes. Art can be music. And music can be art. Let your heart flutter through songs, and every time you hear yours, you’ll drift to a world of your own. I am constantly inspired to create my own song. A song that will also inspire others to be themselves, or a song that promotes peace and love. Like hippies, but better. I would like to create a song, poem or drawing that can motivate other souls to keep moving forward.
               Though I should remind you, art is not for the production of money, or a written insult to your foes. If you have not read what I’ve written above, then I’ll explain it for the last time; Art is a creative way of expressing yourself; it is a way of showing others how your perspective works.

B

                                         B for Boy

         He is beautiful, I finally admit.  I admit defeat and helplessly succumb to the mighty powers of love. I hate it though. I hate the feeling of weakness. Surrendering to floating hearts, giant teddy bears and fluttering butterflies stuffed at the bottom of my lungs. I just hate it. The boy who caught my eyes smiled, and just like that, I back down. I just looked away like a sap. It's not normal of me, I think. But this boy who affected me, who still affects me, should be thankful that I included him in my English project. He'd better be grateful that I didn't muster up the pride that he carelessly crushed, to deny the glowing red blushes painted on my cheeks. I'm mad. But I’m OH so MADLY in love, though it's not visible on my face. Maybe it's because, I'm a girl protected by barriers made up of strength and focus, determination and numbness. But to him, I'm just a girl TRYING so hard to never fall. He said I was afraid that no one would catch me, and I just replied with a fist. He’s right, he always is, but I’m still 13, and I should keep in mind that we have a gap of 3 years-- I mean...I should keep in mind that my family is counting on me, and I shouldn't let myself be distracted by the boy who winked at me, and Lord knows why I fell on my knees that day. I should stop this, like, right now.

       But it seems I can’t. Because whenever I remember the good times we spent in Mindanao, I fall down. A bit too hard, that the crash scars my knees. But it seems my heart doesn’t care as much as my mind does?  I don’t know, I guess it must be puberty or something.

C

                                     C is for Charisma

I’m so jealous of my relatives and my friends. They have so much confidence in them. You can tell by the way they talk, and the way they act. They are all so suave. I wish I could also be as smooth and as cool as them. Outgoing, enthusiastic and so laid back, while I’m so stoic, aloof and alone. Like the Taal volcano, I’m surrounded by a lake of faces. I’m unable to move and speak freely because I feel as if everything I will say will come out the wrong way. And they do. Every time I open my mouth, it’s either I offend somebody or make a fool of myself; I know, I’m so pathetic. I plan conversations in my head; they seem so perfect at first, but when I try to act it out, it goes all wrong because the person I’m talking to won’t follow my script. So I’m like, ‘Okay, I think I should adlib.’  And then it gets all awkward because there will be long, uncomfortable pauses after I speak. Gosh, why didn’t I get any of my Dad’s ‘SOCIAL SKILLS GENES”? I’m too timid but at the same time, I’m stubborn and arrogant. But my pride is just a front I use so I wouldn’t look like a weakling.