It’s the little things…

A while ago, last year, I went through a rough time and Sebastian told me that people will always fall down but you just have to pick yourself up again. I remember the time I was feeling like crap and I just cried and he sat there comforting me. It was weird.

I didn’t have a good day, and this evening as I played Minesweeper with James I remembered that a few months ago he’s asked me “why am I always red? :3”. It was the cutest thing ever; it stuck in my mind and it put a smile on my face.

I remember the times I laughed with my friends. The time Ryan and I argued over the word “that”, or the time Lilian and I made up a sexual joke that was probably only funny to us. The time Vicky accidentally pulled the cord in the computer room and every single computer in the building crashed. The time Ryan said, “Because I eat out with you guys so much, I now know how to use chopsticks!”

I remember having lunch with Mike last week and he told me, “I saw that”. I had no idea what he was talking about until he said he saw me pout… oh, it’s a nasty habit. But I wanted to cry because it was so funny. We only pout as children, don’t we? Or maybe we pout when we’re older when we don’t get what we want.

The truth is that we don’t always get what we want, and I think that there is some beauty in that. There are always the little things that keep us going. I know we all want world peace and happiness and to get good grades and to have happy families and have huge cars or what have you. But… but life isn’t that easy. But life is grand. It is made up of more than one experience.

I read an article in a magazine about bullying, and an Australian actress had said that she was bullied in high school. She said she was called ‘fatty’ and ‘pudge’ and continually teased because of her weight. When asked for her advice she said that all parents can really tell their children is that high school is just one experience in a whole lifetime of experiences.

It’s true. And if my whole life was dependant on one horrible incident of me tripping on concrete and falling down, back when I was ten years old, blood trickling down my knee and me crying as I tried to help myself up… then what is that? We might fall, but we get back up again.

That moment ten years ago, I looked up and was just about to stand when I saw the meanest, strictest teacher in the whole school standing in front of me. I was scared. I didn’t want to get up.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

His eyes weren’t friendly, but he stood bent over me, and I could see he was concerned. Sure, he didn’t hold out his hand to help me. But sometimes we don’t need help getting up again, and that time I didn’t.

“Yeah,” I responded.

I picked up my pink lunchbox and bag and walked to class, where I smiled and forgot about my injured knee.

It’s also just one memory in a lifetime of memories.

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