I’ve always heard corny quotes about writers and poets, and how we just want to be loved, or how we are worlds/problems/disaster trapped in a person. I’ve heard many of these statements and always felt that they were false.
Mainly because 1) love is terrifying, and 2) I’m not that good of a writer anyways.
Unfortunately, there is no world trapped inside of me.
I’ve been obsessed with writing about love ever since I was a little girl. I used to love forcing my Barbies to love each other after I made them beat each other up. I used to love creating drama between them, and then making them walk next to each other and kiss.
I didn’t know it was homosexual of me to make the girl Barbie dolls kiss, but who cares?
I was just happy that they were happy. Kissing made me happy. I knew kissing meant love.
I knew it made people happy, and it made Barbie dolls happy.
(This is what it’s like growing up as an only child. You learn how to form relationships by creating different scenarios with your Barbie dolls)
A part of me always wanted to be like a Barbie doll. Not because I wanted to be skinny and beautiful, or I wanted a “Ken” to love me; a part of me always wanted to be a Barbie doll because I wanted to live in a pink Barbie mansion surrounded by other beautiful Barbies. I wanted to live in a protected, idealistic, and lavish world.
I wanted to be made of plastic so when the little girl who’s an only child throws me down the stairs and chuckles, and cuts all my hair off- that beautifully painted smile doesn’t leave my face, and I am eternally happy.
Can you imagine if everyone in the world walked around in plastic bodies with permanent smiles painted on their face?
Imagine our fingers being glued together and never being able to hold hands with another person.
Imagine never being able to feel the warmth of someones body on yours, and not feeling your heart beat faster as they get closer to you.
Imagine a world where nothing was felt, everything was staged, and we were all perfect.
A world where sensations became numb, and all we had were forced and permanent happy faces.
It sounds good for about 4 seconds. But then it’s actually sick and scary to think about.
Once the fear kicks in, we remember what it’s like to be human. We remember that as much as we talk shit and whine about our problems, we actually would die and be lost without the suffering they bring us.
When I was a little girl I wanted to live in a Barbie doll world and be a Barbie doll girl, because I didn’t know the value of being human.
Then I become an adult and I knew what it felt like to have a fragile beating heart in my chest that some people would love, and some people would rip to shreds.
At some point in my life, feelings being unavailable and perfection being accessible actually appealed to me.
Now I realize how shitty a Barbie's life is. Really, really shitty.
Imagine a world where you could voluntarily smile at every stranger you walk by.
Imagine a world where you could choose who you want to give your heart to, and even though you know they could potentially dagger you in the chest and eat your heart out like a vampire- you could fall madly in love with them and never be the same again.
Imagine that little hole in your heart being filled by another human who also has a little hole in their heart.
Imagine love being enough to make you feel whole.
Imagine a world where you can decide how you live your day to day life and who you surround yourself with. Imagine loving those people so much that your life wouldn’t make sense without them in it.
You see, because as much as we try to deny it- we live in a world of feelings.
We live in a world where the pink mansion looks so much better than our small apartment we work hard to pay rent for every month.
Some people in this world don’t see the value they’re surrounded by. Something else always looks better, something else always seems better.
Whatever that means...
We fantasize over a plastic and perfect life that has never existed, and thankfully, never will.
Because honestly, those corny quotes are sort of right. Not because I’m a writer, but because I am a human being.
Ken and Barbie have always been over rated.
Again, I am writing about love. Again, I am writing about the world.
Maybe I am that corny writer with a world trapped inside of her, that corny writer who is utterly obsessed with love.
But at least I don’t desire living like a Barbie anymore.
I hope nobody desires that anymore…..
In today’s world, we are dangerously close to losing sight of the valuable gifts that lie right in front of us. We are losing appreciation for our own unique and individual lives.
You know, like genuine smiles, friendship, free will, hard work paying off, equality within diversity, and finding love after feeling suffering.
That's the world I love living in. That's the world worth all of the suffering.
Maybe its not a world that’s trapped inside of the writer, but love for the world that is trapped inside of the writer.
At least for me it is.