I am a huge believer in that all things happen for a reason. I am thoroughly convinced that there is a higher source somewhere that makes everything in our lives connect for things to 'take place.'
So here I am, reflecting on the fourteen or so years I've been on this vacuous planet. Writing. For what it's worth.
My idea of a reflection is something that you see in a mirror, something that you can briefly describe as the thing you recognise as yourself or something that you can see. It could be something beautiful or it could be something completely ugly. In my case, a share of this has been ugly and another share would be beautiful.
You may be curious as to why I'm writing this so early on in my life, what could a reflection mean to a fourteen year old that could be so fortunate as to have the entitled youth that graces many lives? Well, you could say out of knowledge that I am too much of an ambitious soul for my own good and have awaited this moment for the past years of my life. To write.
Let me show you what exactly has led up to this grand moment.
I was born on the 18th of June 2001 at exactly 08:45 in the morning.
My mother has always insisted that I never cried during this stage of infancy that is so often treasured by cooing adults as they picture their babies in smart little petticoats and cute little booties smiling; obviously 'goo-goos' and 'gah-gahs' emerging from their baby lips. She said I only cried once, and that was when I fell from my grandmas sofa as I was sleeping like an angel. Or, as my mum said it 'lights out like a pretty princess.' Which is kind of odd when you think about it.
I started school at the age of five, my blonde curls wrapped up in a tight hairdo made by my mum herself which she was so proud of as I smiled into another camera, my missing teeth sticking out like sore thumbs-all over the place.
Ever since that day, I have struggled in the social department. You see, most of the time I was messing around in the little nursery, running around and laughing. Sometimes I would play in the dinky sandpits and try and make sandcastles when everybody else was watching something on the screen in the TV room which was surrounded by curtains which looked familiar. Kind of like my grandmas. Not to judge. I can remember them being a faded purple, more of a blue with dark blue swirls dotted across them.
By the time I was six, I had two special friends that I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with because when I was six I thought that school was a lifetime thing. By seven, I had experienced the feeling of jealousy which so happened to come in the form of a new girl in our class, it seemed that my two special friends had taken quite a fancy to her. As you can tell, I didn't like this at all. My over-protectiveness of my two friends got in the way and I ended up in a faded, multi-colourful room with giraffe's and all types of different jungle animals stuck on the walls. That's when I saw the lion.
It was in the 'I'm ready to kill you' pouncing position with it's head drawn up high on the wall. It looked so proud and superior that I fell in love with this generic creature for its wild, flowing mane that fell so perfectly down its arched back that I almost forgot about my friends.
I had always thought it was my fault.