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[tlua]

Paula’s diary, pt I

Hi, my name’s Paula. I’m almost thirteen and am just another girl that likes books, learning new stuff at school, playing with my friends and fantasizing about things. I don’t think I have a *best* friend, I’m not sure what that is about (who is best compared to what and how do you establish that?) but I do have two nice girl friends that live nearby and that I often go together to school with. It is sometimes confusing since I do feel this pressure to “have a best friend”, but the practical matter of how I should go about and “get” one confuses me. Most of the time, I feel like I speak a language that is totally different than that of my peers - I like going to church and listening to stories from the Bible, like the stories of Jesus; I think that God is this nice grandpa in the skies that watches over me, and I do my best to please him, my parents, grandparents and everyone else around me. I enjoy being the good girl, but I feel like sometimes kids in my class make fun of me for still watching Disney cartoons, wanting to play with legos, or trying hard to get all the answers right. To be honest, I really wish I could look more like the fun, pretty girls, the ones that get asked out to dates, or get picked for dances by boys at birthday parties.. But, alas, I look like a little boy still, no boobs, no fat, and I keep my hair short like ladies in magazines; I wish someone would just grab my butt like they do other girls’, so I could feel like I also belong with them. It’s my thirteenth birthday this weekend, and my mom is organizing a party at home for me. It’s hard for me to pick just a few friends from school, I’d want to invite them all over (okay, except the bullies that make fun of me... but some of them are popular kids, and I guess that means I should suck it up and invite them anyway), so we could maybe become better friends this year. But I don’t really talk about these things with my mom. She is great, the prettiest and best in the world (as is my dad, of course), I don’t want to disappoint her and tell her that I don’t really enjoy school because the kids sometimes make fun of how I dress or what I say. I tried once, but she really couldn’t help: she can’t make kids like me. In the end, I do talk her into letting me invite as many as 20 kids, among them this boy that just moved into town, who for some weird reason likes me back. He is cute, all the girls think so and so do I, and he was my first real dance just last weekend at my friends’ party. We got me a cute outfit and a nice haircut, but as things go at my party, I’m just too embarrassed to dance with a boy when my dad is in the next room. This is the last time he will ever ask me to dance; in a month’s time he would also be chasing down one of the popular girls. And I would fantasize about what could’ve been well into my high-school years, and still talk about him romantically in the first year of university. I am a somewhat strange girl, I know.

[tlua]

[tlua]

zasto jednostavno da

kad sam bila mala

sve sam pjesme znala.

svi tekstovi bili su moji.

svi likovi, svi proboji. sve sam ih htjela.

svi su bili slatki. svaki ton, svaki san,

tako lak, udoban. sad kad vidim

da nije sve moja prica. da sve nekog smisla ima,

i gdje ima vatre, ima i dima.

kad je sve tako njezno, suptilno i meko. sve se lomi i sve je nadohvat,

a opet daleko.

zasto jednostavno da.

[tlua]

njemu.

to dijete

koje zelis biti

to vec sam ja,

malena i prazna

bez ikakvih zelja bez vlastitih misli?

drugima ih kradem, pokrivajuc zanemarenu mastu  jer ne znam otkriti svoju licnost tastu? ja ja te volim, ja jesam ti kao cistac, idem svijetom i zatvaram neke price, one slatke, smijesno ljudske

a ti, pitam se, di ces? di ces, pjesmo snova mojih carobnjaku moj i vilo morska pjesmo moja

i djetinjstvo

jer ti si moj i ja sam ta vjerovao ili ne ja

ta

sam.

[tlua]

I am tree

sometimes it seems as if we've all been bred in glass house. once you reach the ceiling, you realize you never took a breath of fresh air. trees aren't meant to grow indoors.

[tlua]

Pavlov's reflex.

he will say he loves me. he will stick poems into my purse. he will send me notes on how unique and beautiful i am, once i let him go. he will think i am the best, will promise to bring the world down to it's knees before me. all this he will do, when first he feels i am no longer his. he will kiss my cheek. he will cry for days on end to show his undying devotion. but only when i let mine wilt. he will vow to be there whenever i need him, if i so much as think of him in times of trying and despair, so long as i first give up on that expectation. he will keep me from harm, from the mean tongues, from all the evil that may come my way. he will be my man, once i no longer need one.

[tlua]

as days go by.

and so, today was just today. a day like any other. he said he loved her but it's all he ever says. he may even believe his lies. or he's the audience that needs it reiterated. she pretended, as it's all she ever does. he'd said it already, so many times. it's what happens when, like him, you lose track. love is no more than a means to an end. and she sees right through it, sees him, and can't say no. she just stands there, pretending to believe it. though they both know she won't. but it makes them pleased, or at least less embarassed, about the things they do. and so, today it goes. he holds her hands, inhales her breath. she lets him. she drinks and talks and laughs and walks and acts just the way she's supposed to. she knows her place. he wants her there. she knows it can't go on forever. it chips away at her soul, slowly extinguishing its inner light. turning her into a shell. and she feels it happening, and does not much to stop it. she's tried, a couple of times, but it only weakened her in the long run. he tells himself that he is doing well, she tells herself that it's good for her. he doesn't get mad, he gives and forgives. he knows best, is experienced and confident in his place. there are no doubts in his mind about where he is nor where he is going. you can't feel him act, he plays his part well. there is no heartbeat in his chest. and so, you take today and do all you can.

[tlua]

rock, paper, scissors.

there once was a crab who had a soft bum.

to hide it from sight was what he'd always done.

he'd find a small shell, and evict it's tenant, make a few adjustments, barely apparent.

wherever he went, he dragged his house along,

it was the paradise of which songs were sung.

his shell was his home, his safety, his own.

it stayed long after his friends were gone.

but then, one morning, something didn't seem right. the shell began to itch, and felt quite tight. something had happened, that the crab had not foreseen,

he grew, and his house was as it had always been.

it was his, and had been for such a long time, the crab never expected an end of the line. and with every new day, it fit less and less, a crab should move, it wasn't hard to guess.

but, something odd was going on in his mind:

he found himself unable to leave his shell behind.

and so he sat there, looked sad and cried, when a fish came along and bit him, until he died.