Mother doesn’t always know best; Leave your tower behind

Silvia Martinez, Reporter

     Sometimes, you have to be the princess that leaves the tower. You won’t have beautiful, blonde hair to make it a graceful landing, and your knight in shining armor will actually just be a loser in tinfoil that doesn’t come to your rescue. Fall down anyway.

     I really would’ve preferred it if a pandemic didn’t force me to jump in high school, but it’s better than not having done it at all. That would’ve been unfortunate. Imagine starting off college with metaphorical bruises from falling for the first time with the same mindset you had freshman year. Gross.

     When I say “leave the tower”, I mean get away from whatever is stopping you from figuring yourself out. No, I’m not saying that you have to know who you want to be or magically know what kind of future you want. That’s unrealistic to expect from a kid.

     I’m saying go against what’s expected of you and see what sticks. Acknowledge your identity and see what you like–like, actually. Who cares if you’d rather go to a mushroom festival than party with crusty people? Who cares if your version of success doesn’t include going to college? Who cares if you want to use different pronouns?

     People will want to convince you that they should have a say in your identity (that’s so embarrassing honestly) but, it is in fact, none of their business. What really matters is this: who do you become when the foundations society laid out for you buckle, and are you happy with the person that’s left when no eyes are on you? 

     It was pretty easy for me to see that the person I was left with was pretty soggy. They were too focused on being defined by their grades, wondering if they deserved to find the right loser in tinfoil, and never straying from the path of a “gifted kid” who shouldn’t “waste their potential” because a glass slipper was already made for them.

     Well, AP Physics I rolls around, and I dropped the stupid slipper on the ground by getting a D on a test for the first time ever. I didn’t react as poorly as I thought I would–it actually felt the tiniest bit refreshing to see something come out so wrong. What else could I break? What else could I do?

     I’m happy to confirm that there’s no real way for somebody to “waste their potential”. You’re only wasting it if you or somebody else decides that you are. The only person that has to be satisfied with the “happy ending” to my “fairytale” is me, so I’m not going to waste any more of my time writing it for someone else. I don’t get to choose to stop writing, so they can simply stop reading if they don’t like it. 

     The people around you will want to shove you into a dress, force you to wear a crown, and criticize your posture to the point you want to cry, but that world can’t be the only one you know. Throw away the crown. Leave the tower. Wordlessly rebel by being you.