introverted_decapod

Well I want to admit I want to. I want to overcome my split personality disorder attitudes towards love. Cold, rational, real world Alë makes decisions with her brain not her heart. To the point that I’m sure many wonder if I HAVE a heart. She believes that only fools fall in love and holds them in utmost contempt. She vows never to be that stupid.

Yet crazy lonely me sits alone at a table for eight in the candle-light with real napkins and wine. She envies the fools who can throw their dignity out the window and wishes she could ditch her pride and her prized rational thought to join the happy fools and fall hopelessly in love. Because well… at least they’re truly happy instead of building a false world around them trying to convince other people that are. She’s hopelessly romantic and prays no one finds out.

Somewhere in between the cold machine and the fuzzy cheese ball is someone wondering what it’s like to fall in love, and if she’s even human enough to feel that way.

I want to climb and count every single stair of Canada’s tallest freestanding tower before I move to Vancouver.

This year for the first time I joined a dance class as my elective. Half as a joke, it was the first time I didn’t do what was expected of me. As the primary ‘visual art talent’ in my year no one expected me to join “slut class” the derogatory term that the kids at my school call that elective. The dance program was reserved for “pretty girls” with no talents or brains and only their looks to get them anywhere in life. MY looks are not going to get me ANYWHERE.

It took me a while to realize that joining the class with the neon pink walls and the Barbie dolls was my way of rebelling. Rebelling against the goody two-shoes book worm non-conformist opinionated fair-trade chocolate eating tree hugging genious that everyone else expected me to be. It was SO liberating. It allowed me to adopt different thought patterns meet new people and grab a glimpse of my real self. I call her dancing Alë, lately since the semester ended and I stopped dancing and letting dancing Alë out of me. I miss her. But a semester of dance does not a dancer make.

Who is Dancing Alë? What makes her different from me? Hopefully becoming a dancer (a real one) will bring Dancing Alë back. We’ll see.