June, 2004

I turned fifteen today, but I don’t feel fifteen. I still feel like I’m fourteen. From past birthdays, I’ve come to realize that I’ll only feel fifteen when I turn sixteen and sixteen when I turn seventeen. But then sometimes I feel like I’m eight again and at other times, five. Age truly is just a number.

One of my class mates asked me if I was going to have a party. I told her no and she jokingly asked if my boyfriend was planning a surprise for me. Somehow I was offended. First of all, because I never talk to this girl and when she found out it was my birthday she didn’t wish me a happy one. Second, because I’m not one to hold such events and she knew that. Third, because I don’t have a boyfriend and everyone knew that. When I told her I didn’t have a boyfriend to plan surprises for me, she feigned shock and asked me why. It was as if she was mocking me. I didn’t know what to say. Why didn’t I have a boyfriend? Because I don’t need one? Because I’m not in school to get laid? Because studying is my priority? These usual justifications were clouded by other ones. It’s because no one wants me. Because no one desires such a boring girl. Because I’m not fun to be with. Because I’m too shy. Because I come off as hard to approach. Because I’m waiting for Luhan, but he would never want to be with me for the same reasons.

A girl may seem comfortable in her own skin, but she dies a little inside every time the topic of her insecurities come up. Because up until that point she wasn’t worrying too much about it. She didn’t remember the scars. She didn’t remember all of the hurt she felt. She didn’t acknowledge those insecurities. She didn’t feel ashamed. But then comes one mirthful statement that turns those scars back into the wounds she had worked so hard to stitch up. Satisfaction turns into embarrassment and her mind gets filled with self-belittlement. Everyone has insecurities and even the smallest grain of salt brings pain to petty injuries. I am no exception, although I wish I was. I wish I could stop myself from swirling in these self-conscious thoughts and go back to ignoring them. I wish I didn’t take things to heart so easily. But I did, and I always will because some things can’t be helped.

Today I turned fifteen, but I don’t feel fifteen. I feel fourteen and thirteen and twelve and eleven and ten and all of the other years that I have been—but not fifteen. I don’t feel more mature, in fact, I feel like a baby right now. I wanted to be two again so that I could cry to my heart’s content. So that I could burst into tears in front of everybody without any shame because when you’re two you have the right to do that. So that I could throw tantrums and be a brat. So that I could stop thinking about stupid things like boys or what people thought of me. So that I could live without a care in the world again. So that I could blurt out my feelings to Luhan and get away with it. So that I could have feelings for him at my purest because honestly I can't say that his handsome looks don’t make me sway. Or that I would even think about him as much if he weren’t always the talk of the town. The seeds of my affection were not sowed by Luhan, but by what people have said about him. I wanted to be two again so that when I confessed he’d reject me because I had cooties and not because he didn’t feel the same way. But I wasn’t two. I was fifteen. I held in my tears, pretended like her words had no effect on me, and cried at home. Because that’s what fifteen year olds do, they cry when nobody's watching, in their room, alone.

–S.H.

A/N: Hello lovelies~ double update today :) This chapter is longer than usual and probably has more mistakes, please excuse them >.< I'm writing at 4 am in the morning.

I kind of feel bad for always making Seohyun sad on her birthday ;A; if you read my other story, "Escape to Oblivion", you know what I'm talking about.

Thanks for reading, subscribing, and/or commenting ^_^ Please do write your thoughts down, I'd love to read them.