What Happened To You? Altez Aguilar

What Happened To You?

What happened to the old you? You know, that young little girl, bubbly and cheerful, like sunshine and rainbows, wishing upon stars and dandelions, and birthday candles— You didn’t have a care in the world. Oh how you was bright, earning the praise of your teachers and parents. “What an intelligent young girl! You’re so very smart for your age. ” You were even part of a group for kids just like you, for “gifted kids,” being told for years, “you know who you are for such a young age.” It gave you a sense of security, maturity, you was too young to be around, to be exposed to. And now, who are you? What happened to you? The old you? You sleep all day, it being your only escape from the world. One hour, three, eight. You wake with dread, a nauseating feeling of a new day, another day you have to live through. You isolate yourself, hiding away from the gaze of others. “They’re always looking, talking about me, judging my every movement,” you say. Look back at yourself; you’re failing. Going from a straight-A student, to now lower than a B; A-, B, D+, but hey, it’s better than an F, right? No, it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. Do you still know who you are? Or was that all a lie?

“I know who I am,” you say, with quivering lips and a hesitant voice. Yet here you are, standing in front of me: You hide behind a smile, baggy hoodies, and dirty clothes— unwashed, reused, the rest sitting in a pile in your room. Your hair: raggedy and short, self-cut and unstyled. Your chest: hidden as best as you can, and your posture all slouched. Your eyebags tell a compelling story; you don’t look well. You’re struggling? But who can see it? You look fine, do better. You were their little girl. Now, what are you? A boy, you claim, you imagine yourself with simple imagery of an ideal world, something you can only imagine, a dream you can only be a part of in sleep. Keep dreaming. You’ll never be real. Look down at your feminine figure; thank all of your curves, hips, chest, waist, just say thanks. Instead of shaming it, damaging it, for a missed opportunity. Thank you, I say to the mirror, a pained face looking back, and walk off.

Altez Aguilar, Grade 9 Kennedy Senior High School, Bloomington Teaching Artist: Desdamona