Dear Diary, I'm Completely Lost

What's Life Without A Little Competitiveness?

Dear Diary,

Some people are like cockroaches. They keep coming back into your life, no matter how hard you’re trying to get rid of them. No home-remedy helps and not even one of those aggressive repellents. Nothing works and you can only watch as they tear apart and ruin everything you know and love.

That’s how I feel right now. I’m writing this in the restroom. Kind of getting into a habit here, huh? But I don’t care, I have to get it out. I’m so mad that I could tear my draft into pieces. Why, why, why, why, why? WHY CASSIE?

Cassie. f*****g Cassie Wagner. Ugh! Does this b***h really have nothing better to do than to mess with me in every possible way?

I quickly put a smile on my face, then pretend to be in distress. “I don’t, actually … I was hoping to get your opinion on an idea, before I put it to words,” I force myself to say, not even knowing how I’m managing to come up with an excuse so easily.

Cassie is watching me with a smug expression on her face. I don’t pay her any attention. Like, come on, why is she even here? How is she into writing? Can someone explain this to me? We used to be friends and not once did she mention having a thing for books.

It was me, who was obsessed with the literary world. So much, that I started making up my own imaginary worlds. She always kind of judged me for it. She was a movie lover. Always. Where is this coming from? Did she overhear me when I was talking to Leslie in the hallway?

I have to remind myself that she approached Mrs. Ramirez before I did. Or did she do that because she thought I’d try my luck as well? She does know me well … No matter how much I hate to admit it.

“Oh. Of course, that’s okay too. Come sit down,” the teacher invites me, forcing my thought process to stop obsessing over queen b***h. “You’re excused, Miss Wagner,” she then adds, making Cassie smile and do a little wave as she leaves the office.

I don’t start talking until she closes the door behind her and I hear her footsteps drifting further away. Only then I turn towards the teacher, who is watching me with a somewhat knowing gaze. “What’s on your mind, Perrie?” she asks, clearly comfortable enough to use my name, now that we’re one on one.

I sigh, coming up with something completely unexpected even for myself. “I just … I don’t know if creative writing is a good fit for me. I mean, I know academic essays are an option, but I’m not sure if I’m skilled enough to write them.”

Mrs. Ramirez looks at me over her glass frames, then puts her hands together. “Well, to put it mildly and not too offensively to my other students … I’ve been teaching you for four years. And I know you’re capable of good writing. Your critical thinking is on a different level,” she speaks up, making my jaw drop.

“You … You really think so?” I ask, my voice so full of disbelief, that it makes her offer me a sympathetic smile. Yeah. She smiles at me. This stern, cold, distant woman actually tries to make me feel better.

“I’m going to put it this way … Miss Wagner just handed in an academic essay that is … Well, it’s better than what she usually comes up with, but I have a feeling that you could do much, much better. If you only put your mind to it,” she encourages me.

Her words awaken something inside me. Something that I didn’t even know existed within my heart. Pride. “Okay, um … Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I could come up with something, but … my soul is with creative writing. I don’t know how I’d be able to just switch up my passion. I want to become a writer,” I admit.

The woman sighs and leans back on her chair. “I think an essay would look better on your resume. Creative writing is nice, sure, but what colleges take more seriously are these kind of entries. About world problems and a critical approach to solving them,” she tries to convince me. “Look, you can always enter a competition that is solely about creative writing, if you still want to try your luck. But there are many more jobs for journalists in this world, than for book writers,” she adds as she notices I’m still hesitant.

“Is it really so bad to want to write books for a living?” I wonder, not wanting to hear the same answer from her than I already got from my mom. Mrs. Ramirez knows who my mom is, and she knows how well-established her name is.

“I think your mother can answer that question better than I do. But I walked a similar path to yours. I wanted to be the next Agatha Christie … And yet, here I am, still teaching English, without writing a single book in my life,” she tells me.

I sigh, nodding in defeat. Maybe this is a good thing. If there are two people, already telling me to take a shot in journalism, there must be something to it. Besides, I really want to beat Cassie. I have to write a better essay than her. “Okay. Thank you for your input, I’ll come up with something by the end of the week,” I assure her.

“I’m glad to hear that, Perrie. If you have any trouble on the way, you can reach out to me whenever you like,” she assures me. I nod in agreement, then get up, already deciding that this is what I need. Maybe I’ll end up loving journalism way more than I like creative writing.

“I will, thanks … By the way, are there any themes that the contest judges prefer, regarding essays?” I wonder before I turn the doorknob. She watches me for a moment, looking almost amused.

Suddenly, she pulls a paper from her first drawer and hands it over. As I scan it, I realize it’s a list of world issues and problems that have no clear solution in sight. “I’m glad you asked,” she remarks, making me lift my gaze from the paper to meet hers. “I’ll see you in class.”

I leave her office with mixed feelings and find my best friend, who seems to be quite sleepy. Neither of us is in the best mood. “I’ll let you go first,” she offers, after I greet her. I sigh, shaking my head.

“Trust me, it will take too long. You go first,” I tell her in response. I know it seems like we’re talking in codes, but this is just how we function. Our conversation is suddenly referring to our cranky moods.

She sighs. “Okay, fine. I was up until two in the morning, talking to Aiden,” she admits, trying to hide the sadness in her voice. I feel bad because I just spent a whole weekend with Hunter, while she has to wait until Thanksgiving to see my brother.

“Oh,” I murmur quietly, then pat her shoulder sympathetically. “It will be November before you know it, you’ll see,” I assure her, making her offer me a half-smile.

“Yeah, I sure hope so … Okay, your turn now. What’s with the long face?” she wants to know, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. I sigh, almost not wanting to say it out loud. Especially because the she-devil is in our presence. She’s standing about teen feet away from us, which means I’ll have to be really quiet.

I lean in closer, making Leslie mimic my movement. “I just went to Mrs. Ramirez’s office to submit my draft for the competition … And Cassie was there. She’s participating in the same competition,” I let her know.

My best friend’s face falls and she turns her head in a not very discreet way, sending daggers to her back. As she turns back towards me, I stare at her in disbelief, while she lets out a long breath. “Sorry. Had to do that. The b***h deserves worse, in my opinion, but I hope the needles of my eyes felt really sharp on that too-smooth-to-be-true back of hers.”

I can’t stay serious as I hear those words. My best friend stares at me for a moment, before joining my laughter session. “Les, come on!” I say, clutching my stomach while wiping the tears from my eyes at the same time.

She’s leaning her head on the wall, her perfectly white teeth glistening like tiny pearls. “What? Are you going to say that it’s normal for a teenager to not have a single pimple on their back? She probably uses a corrector even there. But I can’t imagine how she applies it on her own,” she whispers quietly, trying to assure that my laughter muffles her words.

I shake my head, barely holding myself together. She chuckles, refusing to look at Cassie and her little posse, despite knowing that they’re watching us. We’re both aware of it, but we don’t care. They can think whatever they want, I don’t care anymore. Neither of us does, actually.

Despite the momentarily distraction and cheering up from my best friend, I’m still left sulking during our first lesson of the day. I keep thinking where it went wrong for me. I really want to go back to Mrs. Ramirez’s office and submit that short story, but it feels stupid now.

I mean, it was something I have written for my soul, I realize it now. I needed to get some things out of my system, you know, hence the metaphors, drawing lines with my own life. But now that I think about submitting the story to a competition … It just doesn’t feel right.

Maybe both my mom and Mrs. Ramirez are right. Maybe my future is journalism. I can still write for myself, like I’ve been doing until now. It’s not like I shared any of my stories with anyone. But essays? I’m not too shy to let the world know about my opinion on burning problems our generation will have to deal with some day. And that day is coming soon.

That day, I go through Mrs. Ramirez’s list, trying to pick one. I can’t decide between all of them, they sound so good. I mean, none of them are actually good, they are labelled as problems, after all. But I just know I’m able to come up with a good discussion for either of them.

My mom knocks on the door as she comes to call me for dinner. It’s just the two of us today. Dad has an afternoon shift today. “What are you up to?” she asks casually, as she notices my laptop is open. Yeah, I have a new document ready and it’s still an empty sheet.

I turn around and sigh as I get up, deciding to approach her. I tell her about my visit to Mrs. Ramirez. I don’t leave out Cassie. And what she’s submitted to the competition. My mom listens closely, then goes through the list that I got. She points to one without any hesitation and turns the paper towards me, so I can see what she’s suggesting.

I raise my eyebrows. Okay, that’s the one I’m actually kind of excited about and terrified of at the same time. “This one is scary, but kind of awesome, too,” I admit, making my mom smile. She eyes me knowingly.

“Why do you think I picked it? The best articles come out of something that is too scary to dive into, but at the same time, you can’t leave it alone,” she tells me, looking kind of excited that I’ve decided to dip my toes into her world. “But it can wait for after dinner. Come, or else our nachos will get cold,” she then adds, making me nod. I put the paper down next to my laptop, then follow her downstairs. My mom’s input just made me kind of nervous. But in a good way.