I've Moved!

To Tumblr. It's where all the bloggers be at. I've reposted some of my better posts from here onto there, but there's a couple new things. amiablehacker.tumblr.com I completely forgot to post this just in case anyone stumbles across this page thirty years from now and wonders what happened to little old (I'll be so old then) me. Well that's where I am currently. On Tumblr. Gotta keep up with the times! :)

My Observations

There were so many people there. Over three hundred. That was a pleasant surprise. Actually, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but it was reassuring to see how much this beautiful girl is loved. It's unfortunate that many don't see how many people care for them until it's too late. In Mandy's case, though, she knew that she had amazing family and friends that love her very much.

It wasn't as sad as I thought it was going to be. The talk was uplifting in a way, since it's main theme was the Bible's hope for the future and how we're all going to see her again. Of course, there were parts about Mandy at the beginning and end that made everyone start to miss her all over again, but overall it was rather positive.

Honestly, I wish I got to meet her. I think I would have liked her a lot. She liked books more than I do. She definitely loved Jehovah. We would have had some amazingly hilarious discussions. But I'll see her someday, so it's okay. Well...no it's not. Not really. But it's the new reality now, which is tragic and unfortunate and takes a long time to adjust to. No one wants to adjust to it, it's just what the world expects (which is pretty selfish of the world, in my opinion). The world doesn't stop to grieve with you, but that's what a support system is for. The ones that stop their world for you to try and understand the pain you're going through.

That's what I'm trying to do. I'm simply an innocent bystander trying to help. I have no idea what my friends are experiencing and, although I'd never wish harm on my loved ones, I wish I could fully understand the shock of having their Mandy yanked away from them in an instant. If I can help them in the tiniest way, I'll be happy. I'm not old enough to have wise words of wisdom that greatly affect their lives. I'm one of the many people that are helping them. My presence is all I have, unfortunately. But all those articles I've read about grieving and helping friends who are grieving say that I'm doing the right thing so...ok. Here I am then.

But this isn't about me. It's about her and the ones that miss her dearly. I wish I could articulate this better. I'm usually good at this. This is one of those situations, I suppose, where words can't properly describe anything that's going on right now. The people around me on Friday were hurting, and all I could do was watch. I can't describe the looks on their faces, they were all different. Some were embracing the closest friend they could find and not letting go. Some had red eyes. Some had tears. Others did not. With all these different reactions, though, not one of them was abnormal or incorrect. Everyone has a unique brain that's being forced to process this pain in it's own way.

We aren't supposed to have to deal with a tragedy this great. Hearts weren't designed to be broken. Lives weren't meant to be lost. It's not supposed to hurt like this. That's why we need that everlasting hope. I'm sure that pondering on that helps with the loss a lot. Maybe.

Right now it might just hurt. Right now the hope might not matter because she's gone. She's gone now. It's awful. It's terrible. It's sad. I could feel the devastation in the room on Friday. I just wish I could help more. But these are all strong people. With the inevitable support they'll have from family and friends and, of course, Jehovah, I know they'll make it through this. Eventually.

I'm not trying to pretend I know what this feels like. I know this post isn't doing her justice. I'm just an observer, and these are my observations.

What it comes down to is this: It's clear that Mandy is deeply loved by many people. She will truly be missed. We all look forward to seeing her again.

Grown Up Realizations: I'm Not Mad Anymore

I have this theory that if I didn't know how to control my emotions and didn't have an understanding as to why bad things happen, I'd be temperamental. I'd be angry a lot. Let's face it, people are infuriating. Unreasonableness and dogma is impossible to avoid, even amongst friends. I've felt it before. Everyone has, I'm sure. I think that if I didn't know how to handle other people's unreasonableness, I'd just be a fireball of rage constantly.

It used to bother me for days. It used to bother me for weeks. I guess I've always had a hard time letting things go, but problems were pretty minor in elementary and middle school. It's when I reached high school that people acted like morons and actually hurt themselves and others around them. I hated it, because I could always see it coming.

Maybe I'm being to vague. Here's an example. Once upon a time, I was a friends with a girl who loved dating. She was basically boy-crazy. She would flirt with any boy she liked, whether she was currently dating or not. Eventually, inevitably, she had boy trouble. I was still at the point in my life where I felt obligated to help others, so I gave her advice. Lots and lots of advice. It was completely reasonable, and she always agreed I was right. But she always ignored it. She would tell me she wished she could like me, since I had no boy problems whatsoever (at least, not at that time). I insisted that she could, but she still didn't listen. Then she'd get dumped or break up with a boy, and be all sad and upset. I could come in and help her grieve. Then she'd get back with the same guy a month later, insisting that he changed. Lather, rinse, repeat. We drifted. Every time I saw her, she was really nice, but always with a different guy and eventually I realized her problems weren't worth my time.

After we drifted but before I came to that reasonable conclusion, I was extremely angry. I'm not sure what I was angry at, but I was angry every time I saw her walk down the hall with a new boy. I was furious when I found out she was, at one point, dating someone who was twenty-five. Honestly, this rage was really misguided because it was never my business to begin with. I was disappointed in her, even though we weren't best friends or anything. I was angry at the fact she thought she couldn't help it. If she just accepted that having a different boyfriend every month was just who she was, maybe I wouldn't have been so upset. What bothered me so much was the fact that she kept making the same mistakes over and over again, then complaining about them. Mistakes that could have been prevented. I was so mad at her whole situation. I would talk myself into a frenzy just thinking about it. Why wouldn't she just listen to me?! I'm SO right! I know I'm right! I have no experience dating and I know more about the lies that guys tell girls than she does! I'm right I'm right I'm right! ARRRGGHHH!

Eventually, though, I got over it. It was one of the first experiences I had in "getting over" something. Given enough time, it stopped making me want to throw something. I came to the slow, gradual realization that it was her life and her decision and there was absolutely nothing I could have done to change her mind. Since I cared about her, I wouldn't even say she was being stupid. Her heart was involved, it was emotional decisions. She may have acted like she wanted logic and reason, but her heart was already made up. The heart is treacherous and desperate.

So, after that whole thing, I thought I was done. HA. Not even close. It kept happening again. And again. And again. With different friends and different scenarios. I thought I was more mature after I got over the flirty, boy-crazy girl. I wasn't. Every single time it happened, I would get really angry. School stress played a factor, obviously, but it was mostly WHY CAN'T YOU PEOPLE SEE THAT I'M RIGHT!? I would come home and spend hours talking to myself, saying things I should tell them over and over, and then never actually doing it. My whole body would become tense. I also couldn't sleep if I let myself start ranting about it shortly before bed. I'd get all fired up and have nowhere to put my angry energy.

It got pretty bad at the end of senior year. Eventually I was mad at everyone. I really wanted to escape the sea of morons I was surrounded. My friends didn't appreciate those comments, but I stopped caring. (Most) of the ones I associated with on a regular basis were pretty reasonable. The vast majority weren't.

Then I graduated. Yay! I'm all done now, right? WRONG. I don't know why I thought I would escape unreasonable people, especially since a big part of my day consists of knocking on the doors of strangers.

The unreasonable people I knew in high school still bothered me for months after graduating. Mostly because I couldn't say "I told you so" and all that. Any time I would get a chance to rant about it, I would take it. Which would make me mad again. Then I'd meet dogmatic people in the ministry and ARRGHH! People make me so ANGRY! I would never get angry to their face. It would always pop in later.

Just like everything else, though, I got over it. I don't know how or why, but when I think about all the things people did in high school that made me mad, it doesn't make me mad anymore. Even when I meet unreasonable people now, it doesn't stew in my mind for days. Something changed. I guess it's just getting older or whatever, but it's something that's made my life a whole lot easier.

Nowadays, I just feel sad and feel sorry for them. I wish they could be reasonable so they don't have to get hurt in order to realize they're making a mistake. I wish they wouldn't tell me that I don't know what I'm talking about, but it's ok. Maybe I don't. Maybe they're right. Maybe it'll work out for them.

I'm not mad at them anymore. I just want them, these people I deal with on a daily basis, to be happy. And I hope it all works out for the best.

Compliments Are Awkward

Everyone likes compliments. The problem comes after the compliment is said. What is to be said in response? "Thank you" might suffice, and it usually does. However, some compliments are so large, so misplaced, or so unexpected, it's hard to know what to say.

Whether you're the giver of this large compliment or the receiver, both are awkward. For instance, a complete stranger called me beautiful once. Compliments regarding physical appearance are almost always fine. Normal even. I think it was the term "beautiful." I don't know why, but that made me uncomfortable. She was uncomfortable too, like she just realized what she said. She backed her compliment up with "...And I'm not strange!" Maybe I felt so weird about it because I felt it was an overstatement. The only reason I looked so nice was because I was in a blue dress I know I look good in. I was trying to look good that day. It would have been better to comment on the dress, which is what normally happens when I wear it. Instead of saying thank you, I just kinda giggled, and didn't say anything. Maybe I should have been more grateful or whatever, I don't know. It was just weird.

On the contrary, I can completely understand why she said that to me. I've passed by women on the street that are so gorgeous, I have to suppress my urge to say something to them. I've also met some extremely attractive male cashiers, and I know I can't say anything because it'd be weird. So I just smile and sometimes blush. I really want to tell them how good they look, in case they don't know it themselves, but I can't. It would just make both of us uncomfortable.

Then there are compliments that aren't about physical advantages. The ones in which there's no question about their sincerity. The ones that are, in my opinion, the most awkward compliments of all time if said by the wrong person at the wrong time. When someone you don't know that well tells you you're smart. When someone you just met mentions how friendly you are to others. When someone who you view as an acquaintance says they love your company. These are the ones that are the most meaningful (and most likely true), yet I usually tense up if I receive a compliment like that. "Thank you" doesn't seem good enough. I usually feel the need to compliment them back, as if I owe it to them or something. But I never have the courage to give them back, so I just regurgitate what they said to me and apply it to them, which always comes across as insincere. I'm afraid that genuine compliments of that magnitude will scare people away if I voice them too quickly.

Of course, for me the awkwardness comes from the people I don't know well. I'm comfortable giving and receiving all types of compliments from people I already feel close to. The words just come out naturally. It's not a big deal. They are simply kind words that help the friendship grow. I want to compliment them. It's necessary in a good friendship.

Sometimes, though, the weighty compliments are misplaced. For instance, someone may believe you're the smartest person on the planet, but you know for a fact you're not. But this person tells you that you are, and you cannot convince them otherwise. You're not being humble, it simply isn't true. That's really awkward, especially if they keep talking about it.

I don't think there's really a perfect answer when you receive a genuine, significant compliment about your personality or what you do well. "Thank you" always works, and always will work. When I give meaningful compliments to people, I don't expect to say anything significant back. I definitely don't want them to compliment me back, because that seems insincere (even though I do the same thing, shut up).

There's not really any conclusion or realization here. It's just a topic I find interesting. I have noticed that compliments become much more specific as you get older. Actually, so does criticism. But that's another topic entirely.

Grown Up Realizations: Who I Am And Why It Doesn't Matter

It bothered me for a while that I don’t seem to fit in anywhere. I fit in everywhere. No matter who I am with, my personality adapts. That left me to wonder who I really was, and who I was going to be. Now, as this adult thing-a-ma-jig, I don’t care anymore. I never cared, I just thought I was supposed to.

My high school wasn’t particularly cliquey, but everyone had a group for the most part. People they felt the most comfortable around. I spent my freshman and sophomore year trying to find that group with little success. The cheerleaders liked me, the jocks thought I was cool (enough), the nerds thought I was smart (enough), and the outsiders liked that I treated them as a human. I mostly ate lunch with people I knew in middle school, and we were kind of the mish mash of different personalities and interests. The group often varied from week to week because my friends would introduce us to people and we would always accept them. Basically, I hung out with the nice kids and the ones who were always left out because one of us would inevitably invite them to eat lunch with us.

Apparently, that wasn’t good enough for me. I noticed other lunch tables that had other kids I liked to talk to. I wanted to sit with them sometimes. But I didn’t want to split loyalties, so I didn’t. I would walk by and talk to them, but they never invited me to sit with them or anything. After a while I made friends with some kids who always ate lunch alone or with their significant other, so I made an effort to talk to them too. By junior year, lunch became very stressful because I wanted to talk to everyone I thought was cool and wanted to get to know better, which was hard to do in half an hour. Then people who actually wanted to be friends got confused as to why I didn’t eat lunch with them as much anymore. It was very confusing. I table-hopped a lot, trying to fit in with someone the best.

I went to Sno-Isle my junior year, though. That meant I only went to my high school for three class periods. The rest was spent in one classroom. So I became closer to the ones that I rode the bus with and the ones that were in my year-long classes. It was around that time I thought I fit best in the nerd group. At long last! I had found where I belonged!

Or so I thought. The thing with most of my nerdy friends is that they have always been nerds and spent their whole lives doing nerdy things, like playing video games and reading fantasy literature. I didn’t. I read books, but not the ones they did. I didn’t particularly care for video games except Portal, which was probably why I embraced it so tightly. It was the only genuine interest I had that helped me relate to these nerdy, sarcastic boys. They all liked me ok, because I would research what they liked to talk about (i.e. a video game I’d never play) so I could contribute. Besides, out of all the groups I adapted to fit into, I felt most comfortable here. They were sarcastic, but incredibly smart and logical, and that was awesome. As high school boys are, though, they were also incredibly immature and dirty-minded. I didn’t mind at the time.

Senior year was, I think, when I was the strongest and most mature, which kind of goes without saying. In Sno-Isle I always worked with the same group, and I found out that I was always my team’s leader for some reason. I’d always thought of myself as more of a follower, but I’d need to take charge or else nothing would get done. For some reason, these nerdy, sarcastic boys listened to me. If they were really slacking, I would baby them until they straightened out. Or if they were trying their best and hated it, I would empathize, because I felt the same way. That worked with them. My adaptation skills actually came in handy. By the end of the year, we were the group that got the most done, despite our teacher having a brain hemorrhage and being absent the majority of the school year. Of course, I don’t take credit for all of it or anything, because I wasn’t technically the team leader. Another classmate of mine always wanted to be it, because he thought he was good at it. I let him take the title and when he would break under stress and snap at our teammates, I would calm him down and give everyone their jobs according to how much work they’re capable of doing. I hated almost every second of it due to stress and my own procrastination, but I learned a lot about myself and where I fit best.

By the end of the year, I took a step back and looked at all the friends I made. They were all nerdy people, but it’s not like I seeked them out because they were nerds and I was one too. It just happened. I guess it was a nerd group, but it didn’t feel like it. It didn’t even feel like a group. There were at least two groups that would sit next to each other that I hopped back and forth between. Then there were some individuals who would just pop in once a week or so. Almost everyone had other groups of friends that they were closer to who I wouldn’t hang out with. Most of us drifted apart, inevitably. Nobody (with the exception of Hayley) really thought of me as their buddy or close friend. And the feeling was mutual. They were just cool people I liked to talk to, and I really liked it. It was the perfect group. There was no commitment behind it or anything, it was just a casual friendship. I think that’s how high school friends should be, at least for me. It made it a lot less sad when I graduated, let me tell you. The only thing that made me genuinely sad was the fact that my AP Lit class was over.

Then I started wondering if I really was a nerd, because I related to so few. I liked the idea of a nerd being someone who is unironically enthusiastic about something that they care about. But that just makes the athlete a sports-nerd and the girly girl a makeup-nerd. That completely changes the stereotype. I struggled to place what I was.

Finally, I came to the adult conclusion. Adults. Don’t. Care. I don’t know any adults that go around telling people about how much of a nerd they are or how preppy they are. Who cares!? Just be you. It doesn’t need a label attached to it. There’s more important things to do.

It doesn’t matter that I feel the most comfortable around sarcastic adults who are significantly older than me. It doesn’t make me anything, nerd or otherwise. It really doesn’t matter, never did. It only appeared to matter in high school. I’m simply a person. There’s not a specific group I fit perfectly into, there’s just people that I enjoy being around more than others. Those people tend to have similar traits. That’s all.

And one of these days I’ll find someone who likes to discuss books as much as I do. Then my so-called quest will be complete.

Grown Up Realizations: What the Word "Friend" Means

I have understood for a while now that the term “friend” is used pretty casually to spare feelings. It’s much easier to introduce someone as “my friend…” instead of “my acquaintance….” The problem this creates, though, is not knowing what category you honestly fall under, and if the category is mutual. It’s incredibly awkward when you realize someone views you as a close friend, and you feel like you’re only acquaintances, and it can be devastating being in the vise versa situation. I’ve been in both, and I think I’m more empathetic toward the other person now, no matter the situation. I realize now that relationships build gradually, and sometimes one person feels a bond or chemistry that the other doesn’t. That’s more of a high school realization though. That’s not what this is about.

The realization I’ve had more recently is that over time, the definition to the word “friend” changes drastically. I realize that there’s exceptions to everything and everyone’s lives are different. The following is not generally speaking, it’s mostly personal definitions.

Elementary School: Thinking back, I had several “best friends” in elementary school. Who were these girls? The girls in my class that accepted the request to play with me. If I played games with them enough times in a row, they were a friend. If I played games with them consistently for a whole school year or more...BOOM! Best friends. Boys were not included, not at first anyway, because boys were weird.

We didn’t talk about anything in our personal lives. I couldn’t have told you ten facts about these girls. Meeting some of them again in high school was mostly nostalgic. Quickly we both realized by then that the friendship was based on nothing more than extended communication and meaningless elementary school games. But that’s ok, because that’s how friends were supposed to be for the most part.

In elementary school I developed a basic understanding of what good friends did and what bad friends did. Good friends played with me no matter what, even if they thought the game was stupid. Good friends shared their dessert and traded lunches. Bad friends ignored me when I talked to them. Bad friends ditched me for someone else.

Even in late elementary school, my definition had changed a little bit. I actually had conversations with the girls I knew. We mostly talked about boys though. Boys were included in the friend circle, even though they were still mostly weird in my opinion. I think I only included the ones that had crushes on me. I never noticed that before, but it’s totally true. If a boy called me pretty (either through a note or a mutual friend because no one ever did these things face to face) then I immediately started hanging out with them at recess. Who else did I talk about with the girls? By sixth grade, good friends let you rant about cute boys, and bad friends told the cute boys you were talking about them.

Middle school: Sometimes friends are grandfathered in from elementary school so the relationship can continue to grow. A lot aren’t.

My friends in middle school were the ones I had classes with and ate lunch with. They had to be as immature I was, or else they were boring to me. I don’t know about anyone else, but laughing became a very important part of my friendships during that time. If I couldn’t laugh with a person, they were not my friend. And I laughed a lot in middle school. I blushed a lot too, actually.

In middle school, the conversations were (slightly) less about boys and more about school and how much it sucked. We talked more about our unique interests. I didn’t have any. I was interested in whatever I thought would make me cool. We mostly talked about homework, and what we did on the weekends. The friendships back then meant a little bit more, because association outside of school was more common amongst students.

I learned more about good and bad friends. Good friends didn’t tell me I was blushing (I know I’m blushing!). Good friends saw past the incredibly ugly pink, sparkly coat that I wore to school every single day that was filthy because I didn’t know coats could be washed. Oh, boys were more included my friend circle. Good boy friends had to be cute or funny, to me. Otherwise I didn’t pay attention. Wasn’t I nice?

High school: This is when everything changed. Not for me, for everyone. Suddenly, good friends could become a lot closer since problems encountered in high school could potentially be quite serious and stressful. This is when the line between acquaintances and friends became much clearer. There were a lot of people I knew all throughout middle and high school that I never considered close friends. “School friends” is what I called them. Those were classmates that I had classes with and I liked being around and talking to, but I really knew nothing about. Actually knowing the person became important in high school. Common interests were important in order to have anything to talk about.

Conversations could be about almost anything. I stopped talking about boys because I didn’t date whilst in school, so there’d be no point. Boy talks were only to pressure girls to date the boy in the conversation. My conversations were mostly with boys by junior year, because I realized I was most myself talking with them. It was weird, actually, I had a hard time having real conversations with girls. I knew they were out there, I just couldn’t find very many. I think I can name three girls now that I could regularly have somewhat serious conversations with in high school. That means we didn’t talk about ourselves, or complain, or mention anything about clothes or makeup. Our conversations were past small talk.

The things I learned about good friends in high school were mostly things I had to learn personally, not traits my good school friends already had. But they’re still important. Good friends listened and gave advice when necessary. Good friends were the voice of reason, but only when needed. Good friends were honest, yet tactful. Bad friends spread rumors. Bad friends didn’t have anything good to say about anything I did. So, pretty much, high school was when I learned the basic definition of an adult friend. Someone who’s meant to stick around, not just someone I would hang out with during school hours.

Adulthood: This is the definition that probably takes almost an entire lifetime to figure out, because it’s impossible to describe with words.

I can’t put traits in this section, because I haven’t figured out yet. But these are the friends that stick “closer than a brother,” according to Proverbs. These are the friendships that take years to develop. I haven’t lived long enough to determine my definition. I do know, though, that a good friend in adulthood is supposed to go through bad times with me, or something like that. Conversations can be deeply personal, or even confidential, but also light hearted and funny. Close friends are supposed to see me vulnerable at some point. This must be why a lot of people consider their parents or their spouse as their closest friend. Parents and spouses see everything, but stick around. Parents are obligated to care for a child, but not to be friends with them, necessarily.

There are people in my life now that I feel very close to, so maybe these are the best friends that everyone talks about. But I can’t know that right now. I need to grow up more first.

Now, though, I understand why best friends are rare. Because sometimes no one sticks around. That’s sad to me, but it’s on a long list of things I can’t do anything about, so I try not to think about it.

I think the only reason I’m thinking deeply about this is because I went to a funeral today. It was huge and very crowded. Everyone there cared about the person that died, obviously. But I wonder how many of the people there he would have considered to be his very close friends. I wonder if he’d be surprised by how many people came.

Sometimes I think people forget how many friends they have, because sometimes you don’t know until you need one. Then again, though, is someone really a friend if they only show they care when you’re in distress? Is someone really a good friend if they only care after you’re gone?

I don’t know. There’s so many things I have yet to find out. It’s almost as if I have to wait for something bad to happen to me, and see who shows up. I hope to look back on this post in a couple decades and see if I’ve found the answer.

Grown Up Realizations: Lasting Impressions

Once upon a time, a girl was mean to me. I don’t remember how or why, and I retaliated because I didn’t know any better, but I only remember being a victim. This was in elementary school. When I think of this girl, all I can think of is how mean she was. That’s my lasting impression of her that will not go away unless we meet again, which we likely won’t. I’m sure that this girl is very mature now, considering that she’s an adult like me. I’m sure she’s not mean anymore. But I still have the lingering impression of her that has stayed with me from elementary school. People that were rude or arrogant because they were seven, are still rude and arrogant in my mind, even though they likely aren’t anymore. They left an impression of themselves in my brain, something that won’t diminish. It fades with time, but never disappears unless I completely forget the person or my impression has a reason to change.

If I see a person I went to elementary school with walking down the street that I didn’t like, negativity is all I can think of. Then, if I see a person that I went to elementary school with that I really did like, I’m excited and want to talk to them. I realize now that they probably have no idea who I am anymore, because the impression I have is only based off of something they did once many years ago that they no longer remember.

Maybe this is just a girl thing or something. Or maybe it’s just a “me” thing. All I know is, I never remember a physical person, I remember what I felt when I was around them and how they treated me and who I think that person is. I think that’s how everyone is...I desperately hope so. Actually, never mind. I desperately hope that I’m just the crazy one, because if I’m not then I’ve been unknowingly leaving first impressions in people’s mind that I have no way of knowing about or changing.

Making a good last impression used to be a big deal to me. Since I was friends with quite a few guys in high school, I usually had zero indication of what their lasting impression of me would be. That fact used to really bother me. I don’t know why, but I think it’s because I knew that I would remember the things they said and did for quite a while, and I didn’t want to be quickly forgotten. This had me believe that guys didn’t have lasting impressions of anybody, which I considered to be a wonderful thing. I felt like an emotional girl that had the desperate need to tell her guy friends that she was going to miss them, while very few of them returned the favor. It doesn’t bother me anymore though, because I know now that being friends with girls in high school is just as confusing in regards to last impressions. High school girls tell you what they think of you, but half the time they’re lying. They’re the ones that write “let’s hang out” in your yearbook, with no intention of doing so. So the girls that seemed to like me in high school don’t make eye contact now, and the girls that I barely talked to run up to me in the supermarket. Really, then, I’m left just as uninformed with the girl’s lasting impression of me as I am with the guy’s. Sometimes I wish that the girls that barely knew me would just do the “what’s up?” nod that I get from high school boys instead of faux enthusiasm that I have to reciprocate in order to be polite.

Considering I’ve heard men and women talk about the people that made positive lasting impressions, I think that high school boys simply didn’t want to get sentimental over high school ending, and high school girls thought they were supposed to get sentimental over high school ending. The truth was, both parties were going to remember certain people for the positive or negative impact they had on them.

However, I still wondered about the impressions that I was leaving behind. This was why yearbooks were a big deal to me. My signature was my lasting impression. It had to be a good one. Around spring break, I would plan out what I was going to say in everyone’s yearbook. It couldn’t just be my name and a smiley face. It had to represent me and how I would miss that person without getting too mushy or creepy. It had to be specific. I never said “let’s hang out” because I knew I wouldn’t be able to follow through (although I may be wrong. I don’t remember now).

Some friends were easy to write for, but others (usually the guys) were more difficult because I wanted to be meaningful without giving them the wrong idea. They thought I was weird when they read my signatures, but I hoped that down the line, it would bring back pleasant memories.

I also knew I’d be signing the yearbooks of people I barely knew or didn’t particularly care for. I determined who those people would be and what I would say without pretending we were amazing friends or being completely dismissive. So when someone asked me to sign their yearbook that I didn’t anticipate, it totally threw me off. Yeah, I’m the crazy one.

It’s funny now, because I have no idea what I said in anyone’s yearbook at this point. There are some that I think I was too meaningful in, and those where I was dismissive when I shouldn’t have been. I do remember the gist of what I was going to say in a couple yearbooks I never got to sign, because those were lasting impressions I never got to make. Now I’m stuck wondering, like most people I guess.

At the same time, though, do I really want to know? If I wasn’t ignorant, I’d probably just be disappointed. Sure, there may be a couple pleasant surprises, but that wouldn’t make up for all the people that have forgotten me. I mean, I can’t expect people to remember me for that long. I’m not memorable, most people aren’t. Close friends and role models are memorable, but people are just people.

This reminds me of a time during sophomore year, when I saw a guy outside of school who just looked at me and said, “Hey, I know you!” I had absolutely no idea who he was. We had no classes together. He said he recognized me from the hall. I found out later we had a mutual friend as well, but I still was surprised. This was before I had acquired my Portal hoodie (the usual reason why people at school would recognize me), so I didn’t know why he remembered me. I almost felt bad I didn’t recognize him, even though I shouldn’t have. I doubt that I left a lasting impression in this guy’s mind or anything, but it still makes the point that sometimes the impressions aren’t mutual, and that’s to be expected.

All that I can do, then, is hope to be remembered. However, I matured a lot in high school. Maybe I should hope to be forgotten, because the person I am now is a lot different than the person I was four years ago. And by “different” I mean “immature” and “annoying.” Most everyone else was the same in their freshman year though, so I guess that doesn’t matter much. I guess I shouldn’t hope for anything, because the first and last impression someone has of me is something I can’t change. It is the way it is.

I’ll probably just be remembered as that nerd who liked Portal and talked too much. Hey, that’s accurate enough for me!