Originally Unoriginal
Katie has inspired me. Today is one of those days. I need this. You need this. You want this. And here we go.
My name is Rosa, which isn't short for anything at all. Some people think that surely my full name is Rosanne or Rosemary or Rosalie, but it's not. It's just Rosa. A simple four-letter word to describe an intricate and complex little girl. I used to want my name to be Roza so I could have extra schnazz. Then I realized that I already had extra schnazz. I have a million and one nicknames. And if you love me, you'll probably find your own term of endearment for me. Just make sure it's original when you do. I'm not a fan of things that lack originality. Rosie. Rosagoza. Rosaposa. Rosamalin. Rosattica. Rosannika. Rosalina. Rosebud. Rosatia. Rosha. L'il Ro'. You'll think of one.
I am about 5'5" and weigh between 140 and 145 pounds. I weigh about as much as most boys I know. I don't care. Erin Haffner asked me in Grade 8 what I thought of eating. I told her it was a rather pleasant thing. She told me it was a chore for her. I scrunched up my face and gave her the you-must-be-insane look. Now I don't eat much. But it's not because I think eating is a chore. Nor is it because I think I'm fat. I'm not fat. You don't need to tell me that. I have been known to go anywhere from 10 to 45 hours without eating. It's not a big deal. And I'd like if you didn't ask questions at me as if I'm some type of lab experiment.
I wear size 11 pants and they ride low on my hips. My hair is brown. It is plain brown. It's not pretty light brown. It's not intriguing dark brown. It's just brown. I used to get highlights done a lot. People said they looked nice. Then I stopped. I don't know why. I cut my own hair. Some people think that's weird. I don't care. I'd rather not pay $30 for some lady to trim my hair when I can do it not-so-perfectly well myself. It usually ends up being uneven. And I don't care because that only adds to my character.
I have friends, but I don't spend time with some of them. Some of them aren't around anymore and that makes me sad, but university life isn't always easy and there's nothing I can do about the miles that separate me from the people I love. If I could have anyone vist me for a day, it would be Brandon. But Brandon would not want to come, so I would ask Katie to. Katie is one of my close friends, though she might not believe that. She means a lot to me. I want us to be friends forever. I don't like friends who think they're not my friend. I don't like boys who don't know how to ask for my number. I don't like boys who wear tight pants that end above their ankles. I don't like boys who say they listen when they don't. I don't like dishonesty. My mother doesn't like my father. They don't really live together. My father used to hurt me a lot, so seeing him once a week doesn't bother me. He's in Toronto most of the time. He takes us there a lot. I love the big city. He thinks that taking us to movies and fancy dinners makes up for psychologically and physically abusing us for more than a decade. He's wrong. He's probably having an affair with some woman in Toronto. I'd like to meet her. My dad is a very particular man who scrutinizes a lot of things about a lot of people.
I want to run away. But I will never have the courage to. I think my life here is mediocre and although Jen says there's nothing wrong with living a mediocre life and being happy, there is to me. I would run away, but I have no place better to go. Except maybe Arizona. But there's no one to take me in there. And without a job, money or shelter, I wouldn't be able to do much anyway. I am a runner. I run long-distance, usually the 800. I run away from problems sometimes. I run away from people many times. I run away from my own life when I can. My toenails are a shimmery shade of silver that look light purple from certain angles. I painted them that way in the car on the way home from camp and just hours before prom. I did a messy job, but there's such little nail polish left on my toes that it doesn't matter now anyway. Prom was the best night of my life. Until October 1. I want what I cannot have. I have what I do not want. Sometimes I am offered everything. And sometimes all I want is nothing. I don't particularly need anything. Except maybe a friend and a little bit of guidance. I love walking in the rain. I love playing. I love feeling like I don't have to be anybody in the world but me and me is good enough.
My Aunt Kathy told me when I was in Grade 10 that I had disgusting nails. She made me cut them and clean them and taught me how to push skin back and file nails with the correct curve. Something that happened that day struck a nerve in me and I have been extremely diligent about maintaining long, clean, natural nails for the past two years. I don't like dirty nails. I don't like when my nails break. But I do not scrutinize the nails of others. My last boyfriend always had short, clean nails. I liked that.
Everything about me is slightly off. I have nice nails and ugly fingers. I have beautiful eyes and ugly eyebrows. I have smooth skin, yet I currently have an acne outbreak and I do not like it one bit.
I like photography. I like capturing the essence of moments. I like moments in general. I like re-living moments. I cling on to my past too much and spend more time in my memories than I should sometimes. I worry about my future. I worry about my past. I worry that I have lived too much already and I am ready to sign off my life. When I die, I want my organs to be given to someone who needs them more than I ever did. I am not scared of dying. I am more scared of being hurt than I am of dying.
I want to swim naked. I want to get swept away. I want someone to mean the world to me. I want to mean the world to someone. I want to do something incredible. I want to take someone's hand and run down the edge of the beach, our feet just touching the cold ocean water lapping against the cold, wet sand. I want to be beautiful. I want to be fantastic. I want people to miss me.
Now you've fallen in love with me. And I don't know why.
My name is Rosa, which isn't short for anything at all. Some people think that surely my full name is Rosanne or Rosemary or Rosalie, but it's not. It's just Rosa. A simple four-letter word to describe an intricate and complex little girl. I used to want my name to be Roza so I could have extra schnazz. Then I realized that I already had extra schnazz. I have a million and one nicknames. And if you love me, you'll probably find your own term of endearment for me. Just make sure it's original when you do. I'm not a fan of things that lack originality. Rosie. Rosagoza. Rosaposa. Rosamalin. Rosattica. Rosannika. Rosalina. Rosebud. Rosatia. Rosha. L'il Ro'. You'll think of one.
I am about 5'5" and weigh between 140 and 145 pounds. I weigh about as much as most boys I know. I don't care. Erin Haffner asked me in Grade 8 what I thought of eating. I told her it was a rather pleasant thing. She told me it was a chore for her. I scrunched up my face and gave her the you-must-be-insane look. Now I don't eat much. But it's not because I think eating is a chore. Nor is it because I think I'm fat. I'm not fat. You don't need to tell me that. I have been known to go anywhere from 10 to 45 hours without eating. It's not a big deal. And I'd like if you didn't ask questions at me as if I'm some type of lab experiment.
I wear size 11 pants and they ride low on my hips. My hair is brown. It is plain brown. It's not pretty light brown. It's not intriguing dark brown. It's just brown. I used to get highlights done a lot. People said they looked nice. Then I stopped. I don't know why. I cut my own hair. Some people think that's weird. I don't care. I'd rather not pay $30 for some lady to trim my hair when I can do it not-so-perfectly well myself. It usually ends up being uneven. And I don't care because that only adds to my character.
I have friends, but I don't spend time with some of them. Some of them aren't around anymore and that makes me sad, but university life isn't always easy and there's nothing I can do about the miles that separate me from the people I love. If I could have anyone vist me for a day, it would be Brandon. But Brandon would not want to come, so I would ask Katie to. Katie is one of my close friends, though she might not believe that. She means a lot to me. I want us to be friends forever. I don't like friends who think they're not my friend. I don't like boys who don't know how to ask for my number. I don't like boys who wear tight pants that end above their ankles. I don't like boys who say they listen when they don't. I don't like dishonesty. My mother doesn't like my father. They don't really live together. My father used to hurt me a lot, so seeing him once a week doesn't bother me. He's in Toronto most of the time. He takes us there a lot. I love the big city. He thinks that taking us to movies and fancy dinners makes up for psychologically and physically abusing us for more than a decade. He's wrong. He's probably having an affair with some woman in Toronto. I'd like to meet her. My dad is a very particular man who scrutinizes a lot of things about a lot of people.
I want to run away. But I will never have the courage to. I think my life here is mediocre and although Jen says there's nothing wrong with living a mediocre life and being happy, there is to me. I would run away, but I have no place better to go. Except maybe Arizona. But there's no one to take me in there. And without a job, money or shelter, I wouldn't be able to do much anyway. I am a runner. I run long-distance, usually the 800. I run away from problems sometimes. I run away from people many times. I run away from my own life when I can. My toenails are a shimmery shade of silver that look light purple from certain angles. I painted them that way in the car on the way home from camp and just hours before prom. I did a messy job, but there's such little nail polish left on my toes that it doesn't matter now anyway. Prom was the best night of my life. Until October 1. I want what I cannot have. I have what I do not want. Sometimes I am offered everything. And sometimes all I want is nothing. I don't particularly need anything. Except maybe a friend and a little bit of guidance. I love walking in the rain. I love playing. I love feeling like I don't have to be anybody in the world but me and me is good enough.
My Aunt Kathy told me when I was in Grade 10 that I had disgusting nails. She made me cut them and clean them and taught me how to push skin back and file nails with the correct curve. Something that happened that day struck a nerve in me and I have been extremely diligent about maintaining long, clean, natural nails for the past two years. I don't like dirty nails. I don't like when my nails break. But I do not scrutinize the nails of others. My last boyfriend always had short, clean nails. I liked that.
Everything about me is slightly off. I have nice nails and ugly fingers. I have beautiful eyes and ugly eyebrows. I have smooth skin, yet I currently have an acne outbreak and I do not like it one bit.
I like photography. I like capturing the essence of moments. I like moments in general. I like re-living moments. I cling on to my past too much and spend more time in my memories than I should sometimes. I worry about my future. I worry about my past. I worry that I have lived too much already and I am ready to sign off my life. When I die, I want my organs to be given to someone who needs them more than I ever did. I am not scared of dying. I am more scared of being hurt than I am of dying.
I want to swim naked. I want to get swept away. I want someone to mean the world to me. I want to mean the world to someone. I want to do something incredible. I want to take someone's hand and run down the edge of the beach, our feet just touching the cold ocean water lapping against the cold, wet sand. I want to be beautiful. I want to be fantastic. I want people to miss me.
Now you've fallen in love with me. And I don't know why.