Independent Pages

What do you think would be the worst way to die? Maybe drowning or getting burned at the stake. But I think the worst possible way to die is to be forgotten.
If you’re forgotten, it doesn’t matter what you accomplished in your life. Noone will remember. So what would be the point of living when we are all forgotten at some point? The people who loved you will stop thinking about you because its either too painful to think about your death or they just don’t care. And at that piont, you don’t exist. They die and are forgotten, and so on.
Nice way to think about death, but when you’re me, there is no nice way to think about anything.

This has been Kimiri Moon.

   I walk down the halls of my school an outcast, but I happily accept that status. That is what sets me apart from the countless gum-snapping bimbos in too-tight jeans. It also means that I have few friends, and sometimes I’m going to stand alone. Isolation is just a part of life. You have to accept that if you want to continue living on with hopes and dreams and memories.

   My outcast status is by my own doing; I could fit in if I wanted to. But recently, my whole views on the world changed dramatically. I looked at everyone else, and how hard I tried to dress like them and act like them, and how I hated them. I realized that if I continued on the path I was on, I’d become something I loathed. That moment of insight was unbearable. There was another path available, and I took it eagerly.

   So I changed, from a blonde prep to something I don’t know what to label. I ditched the Jonas Brothers for bands like Disturbed and Three Days Grace, dumped the pink clothes for darker ones. This drastic change was possible because I’d rather be hated by others than be something I hated. I embraced the fact that this new path would be so much more difficult than the other one, and that I’d be alone most of the time. That suited me fine. I have been a loner most of my life, and being by myself was mostly what I did.

   I never expected to find friends on this path, much less some of the best friends I’ve ever had. I don’t think I found them; I like to think that they found me, this sad little girl that lost so much hope for herself. Even better, they understood me, and one is even similar in music tastes to me. I had friends, but no place in thier group. That didn’t and still doesn’t matter to me. I’ve gotten more than I dared to hope for. How can I be more greedy, wanting a place to belong? A place is something that is given to few and misused by many, and I don’t want that responsibility. Not that I would say no if it was offered.

   So even though it hurts when I’m excluded, when I’m left alone, when I’m isolated, I console myself that it’s nothing compared to what it could be. Nothing at all. I’m so grateful for what I have now it almost doesn’t matter.

   Almost.

- Kimiri Moon