Contradiction

Years ago on a summers evening I awkwardly shuffled to my room after what I had just witnessed. You had looked so ridiculous to my ten year old eyes, the worst part is that you had thought you were in the right.

Your actions were loosely justified by your own standards, you held your undying pride to your chest. But the others had pulled a knife to your contradictions and let your pride bleed out.

After the façade of a perfectly constructed argument turned to shambles in only one string of words anyone else could have said.

For years I had thought you were the coolest. The one who could travel to unknown distances and would face any challenge with a chipper attitude. Summer trips to the beaches and carnivals a-plenty. Winters were spent outdoors graced by pure white snowfalls. Most memories were going to familiar places of comfort that you took me to.

My time spent with you were the greatest part of my younger years and they would become the dulled moments of my adolescent years.

After your embarrassment I had gone to my room and hid the albums of memories. I starred at the white ceiling, holding back feelings of sadness that were uncertainly not familiar to me yet.

I was in awe that you had said something so out-of-place and thoughtless I thought you were joking. It was watching a comedian with no slapstick and with a crowd waiting to slap the comedian for wasting their time.

In the large web of thoughts the album we kept came into my head. I looked through the albums for the first time with a critical eye. Though the focal points were those of happiness and fun, the backgrounds and details said it all. The small but glaring details were what had made me hide my album. Some photos we were the only ones smiling, others made me realize the context of situations.

I hid it in a place that made me forget of my own baggage and independent thoughts. My mind attempted to be blissful for the next couple of years. Only hearing small details add up to a 12th grade level sum of problems that weighed me down later. It was a burden but it was better than screaming matches or actions of pettiness like I had heard second-hand from others with similar issues.

I tried to forget and refused to speak to you afterwards. Our conversations later in life were only surface level, though it is normal for conversations to change ours never grew with the years. Our vocabulary was minimalistic yo the point where it was like looking at a modern corporate logo; painfully basic.

Only in rare moments of my bottled up emotions was when I spewed strings of disappointment and even a tearful anger. When you contradict yourself only will I let my tears and thoughts flow into Niagara Falls.

Recently, after beginning to look in the mirror and reflect the equation had grown into jumbles of numbers tied up with each other. After looking at myself I had begun to wonder how could I make myself feel better about this? Speaking to you like an adult is still to early since I feel as though you no longer have interest in talking. So, I had searched for the album I had hid years ago.

It's a painful look to look into the floral album but I want to attempt to get out of my own contradicting feelings about you. Even if it hurts, I want to be the young adult that I am.

The first pictures that I had spotted were those of you holding me, who was only a few months old at the time. Static television, the 90's were only a memory and the latest consoles weren't too powerful to hold many 3D models on screen. Your eyes were tired and your hair was still young.

The next photos were at our old apartment. Imperfect wallpaper, humble furniture, and the photos had begun to look less-polaroid and more modern. Me with non-toxic paint on my face and bright colours were adorned almost daily.

The last few photos had me wearing all black, my hair unkept, attitude was unforgiving with people I did not like. Those days I had lost out on meaningful conversations that I had wanted so bad. I was at my happiest alone, channeling my emotions through multiple art mediums.

I closed the album after hours of starring both in awe and in sadness for how naïve I was. Though I can't completely blame my old self, who would really tell a ten year old ugly side of the role model?

But at least I'm informed for the context I have today.

I will always be glad you tried to take care of me but I may never forgive what you had brought upon everyone else.