Cry for a Shadow

I get it now. What Stephanie meant.

What she meant when she said after Kaleb died, her team was a mess.
What she meant when she said she's fine, but she's worried about her friends.

Brenda died last night.

They called all the comp drama kids down to the drama room, and Sarah and I had no idea what was going on. We didn't think it was anything big. That is, we didn't until we saw Leah and Wendy and Erica crying down the hallway.

By the time we got to the fine arts hall, I knew someone must have passed away.

I didn't know who it was and I didn't want to know. We got to the drama room and it was a crying mess. Robin. Brody. Addison. Rachel. I mentally checked off the people that were alive. Erica. Leah. Sarah. Wendy. Ratul. Ashley. Robin reached out to hug us and sobbed out a broken "Brenda".

Was it terrible that for a second, I was relieved that it wasn't someone I was closer to?

All those unaware of the news started crying at that word, but I didn't.

I couldn't get my head around it.

Brenda? Brenda West?

How could she be dead? How could she not be walking in any minute with her sassy attitude and ask us what the hell was going on?

For a while, I just stood with no emotion, trying to comprehend everything.

I sat down and listened to the sobs and sniffles and to Robin telling us all how much she loved us. That this is our family and we belong here.

It was somewhere there that the tears came. I'm not sure what I was crying for. For Brenda's life taken by her own hand, for Brody's tears of anguish, for Lane's stunned silence.

Then the stories began. Brenda and Lockerbie. Brenda the best of the improv team. Brenda the sassy friend that cares for you. Brenda the aspiring singer.

The counselors were useless. Sparta just wanted to mourn, but they wanted to be there and be "professional".

I'm okay, just confused. But I hurt for the others.

Jessica. She and Brody both got a text from Brenda at 8:38 last night. "I love you."
They were all so close. Seeing all the pleads for Brenda to come home posted at 2 this morning breaks my heart over and over again.

How can she be gone?

Brody said something about how after Newtown, we thought we knew. But we didn't. Now we do.
He said something about how Lockerbie just kind of came together, weaving a tale of grief and overcoming it. How fitting it seems now.

Seeing all these tweets and posts about Brenda made me strangely angry. They didn't know her. Maybe I didn't know her very well either, but I was part of her drama family. She wasn't just another bullied victim. That's not Brenda. I felt like they had no right to say anything and to pretend they care.

It's strange how after today, yesterday's Boston bombing seems to pale in comparison. It's so different when you're personally affected by the death.

But this also brought on another wave of thinking. What if it had been me? Who would mourn for me when I'm gone? Do I have this kind of "family" who would support each other in the grief of losing me? What nice things would they say about me? What would I leave behind?

Rest in peace, Brenda.

I Feel Fine

It's one of those days that the weather depicts perfectly how the day is.

It's raining outside and colder than it has been in a week.

I'm crying again. I'm so sick of crying because of them, but I can't stop my tears. Crying is...freeing, in a way. I always feel exhausted afterwards, but I also feel better. Lighter.

The worst part is always when I'm in my room wallowing in my own misery, and I can hear their words. Their words of how I'm a failure, how they've given up, and how I'm just not enough.

They cut, but I can't stop listening.

Today being "one of those days" came as a surprise. Nothing gave it away, save for the weather. No sign, no warning.  It all seemed a bit sudden to me. But I've been told on many accounts that I can be a bit oblivious, so maybe that plays a hand.

I got in the car a bit later than usual, but Dad didn't seem too angry about it. And then he spoke. It was the cold kind of fury, the kind that's quiet but creeps up your spine slowly until it envelops you completely.

He was upset by me playing in the pit orchestra for the musical.

The things he said. I don't even know where to start.

But he started with the musical, so I will as well.

He was infuriated that the musical was a volunteer thing and I'm in it. It was more brought on by the fact that I haven't practiced piano for OMTA as much since I spent so much time in rehearsal. My parents had a "long" talk this afternoon, apparently. They're upset that I haven't spent too much time on violin, which I understand. It's really the old talk, about how I already don't have enough time and I bite more than I can chew.

There is something new though. They feel like they're losing control of me. I don't listen to them anymore and they have no authority over me, they say. I heed my older friends' advice more than I obey theirs, they say. I seem like I have all these independent opinions now, they say. But they know it's just an illusion because all I'm doing is seeking others' approval. They said.

The thing now is that I can't just close my ears to what they're saying to protect myself, as I had done before. I told myself that I would open my heart and listen, because they mean well and they've experienced more. Some of the things I hear will hurt like hell, but the pain will be worth it because what hurts the most is what holds the most truth.

I know they can see me more clearly than I can at times, because the angle they see me is not the mirror fogged up from the steam of the shower I see myself in. It should be comforting that they know me so well, but it doesn't always feel that way, I suppose. But because of that angle, they miss some details that you have to look closer to discover. They don't seem too interesting in finding out the tiny pores though.

I don't think they realize how difficult it is for me to grow up here in the United States. Two cultures that are so vastly different and I am forced to take the best from both worlds.

It's not so easy all the time.

Yes, I have overcome the language barrier. Yes, I have found a way to fit in to my surroundings. But my journey to self-discovery is made even more rigorous by the two roles clashing inside.

Take one for the team, America tells me. Each man his own world, China tells me.

I don't know what my parents think my reasoning behind my actions are. I don't think they care. But I'm just so, so lost and I don't think that's acceptable to them. I just want to find myself and not be one of those kids that only knows what his or her parents tell them. I respect and value my parents' opinions, I really do. But I want to do what they told me because I know it's the right thing, not just because they told me to.

I guess that's not really obedience, and obedience is what they want from me. Because I'm incapable of acting in my own best interests.

I'm playing for the musical because I know that this very well might be my last year at Santa Fe, and I want to have played in pit before I left. I also know that since Julia's not playing, the violin section will crumble without a leader. I wanted to make one last contribution to the department before I left. Is that so wrong?

Apparently my parents think so. It's not benefiting me, so it was a foolish decision.

To be honest though, pit isn't affecting me as much as they think. I haven't really practiced piano because I didn't want to, not because I didn't have time. It's the whole predisposition thing, though.