Sometimes I surprise myself. I do something, or say something, or even just walking down the street I realise that I have it all figured out. I know how I want to feel. I know this with such certainty that I will never doubt myself. The details don't exist, I don't know how I will get there, I don't know what everything will look like, and I don't know what I'll be doing, who I'll be with, but I do know how I will feel. That's all I am looking for.

It makes me feel a little better about growing up, that I know no matter what I'll be ok. Knowing how to change a flat, put the chain back on my bicycle, how to fix the hole in my jeans, and how to cook rice. I know that no matter what that's all I really need.

It's comforting to know that I have it all figured out, yet at the same time, I don't really know any of it at all.

Today I read somewhere that you grow up when you first laugh at yourself. I was reminded that earlier in the week I nearly knocked myself out while putting deodorant on. No seriously, I was just putting it on and then all of a sudden it flew up into to my eye. And I just stood there, tears streaming down my cheeks as I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. Every time I think of it a huge grin spreads across my face and even now as I type I am laughing pretty hard. It seems pretty funny that all growing up means is that I do even more awkward things, and then hyperventilate laughing at how hilarious the situation is.

Pretty soon every day I will wake up, and resist the urge to slip back into my groggy coma, I will eat my Cheerio's, or Shreddies, or bread with strawberry jam, with a glass of soy milk. Then I will pull some clothes off the floor in a thoughtless ensemble, I will wash my face, and quickly brush my teeth. I'll run around frantically trying to find my math homework, and the CD I want to listen to in Art, and I'll shove it all into my backpack while running to the car.

I'll sit in classes and stare at my watch, and write down useless information that in mere months will mean nothing and probably succumb to incineration. I will wait impatiently for the clock to inform me that it is time to go home. I will wait for the bus, and ride home with every other person going home to avoid their lives, and tend to their children, and I will go to work, or do homework and eat the same dinner I've eaten for the past 17 years, I will do the dishes and then watch TV, and in the wee hours of the morning I will fall asleep after staring at my ceiling for hours, only to start again in a few moments.

It won't be too long now, less than two years, until I am done with all that. Everything will be unknown and I will be free to choose whatever I want. I will have to choose. For the first time in my life I will get a choice. I will get to make decisions for myself. Until then I only have to consider what I want, it all seemed so important three years ago, that a test would determine the rest of my life, but it won't. My final exams in grade 12 will probably have as little an impact on my life after high school as my first math test does.

Pretty soon none of this will matter. In a matter of days no one will remember what was worn on the first day of school. First impression, and teachers, and final exams will not matter any more than what I had for breakfast, and until then I wait for that day, and I carefully choose the out fit I will wear on the first day, and I will worry about my teachers, and my grades, and I will wait, and prepare myself for the day when I finally get to choose, because that's all I can do.

From an early age I knew that controlism was a bad thing. It was included in hatred of almost all isms. I learned from my parents that a controlling relationship was not a happy one, and it was not safe or healthy. At the age where I could comprehend what manipulation and control were I promised myself that I would never involve myself in a relationship involving any of the mentioned characteristics. I also know that no one has control over my emotions. No one has the right to make me feel less than I am with out my consent. I vowed never to let that happen.

Now I am hiding behind corners when I see her approaching. I run from the person she made me. I hate myself because she made me cry, more than once. I hate that I fell for her. I hate that I woke up one morning and realised that I wasn't happy, and then realised why. I hate that I didn't see her for what she really was. She did what she did to so many other people, and I didn't even see it coming. I suppose hindsight really is 20/20.

So now, I am walking away. I'm never going back. I don't need the aggravation. I don't need the abuse. I don't need anything from her, and I have nothing for her. She will never again make me feel any emotion at all. She has lost control.

I had originally intended to write about my thoughts on "Bowling for Columbine" but, I don't know what my thoughts are. I just want to stop shaking, and I want to cry for a really long time.

There is a lot of tragedy in our world, but nothing, not even September 11th affected me as much as the Columbine Shooting. At first, I was just stunned. Then I was scared. I was scared because I saw myself in the killers. I saw myself in their shoes, and I was those kids. I was also the victim. I was the killer and I was the victim. That scared me.

I saw their humanity. I saw that no one listened. I saw that no one cared. I saw the same thing over and over as a child. I saw it happen on the television, and it could happen. The only terrorist I fear is neglect. Neglect, and the absence of love.

John Lennon had it right. All we need is love. But it didn't work for him did it? He ended up shot to death on the dark streets of New York. The thing that scares me the most is that I have no control over anything remotely important. I can't love the world, I can't even love the small amount of people I converse with on a daily basis.

As long as there is hurt, and pain, and hardship and money, there is nothing any one person can do.

Today I was the sullen teenager standing in the paper isle of a large department store. I am not trembling with anticipation. I'm not even excited this year. The prospect of school makes me angry and silent. Staring up at the rows upon rows of yellow pencils I am mystified by the accessories that now come attached to nearly every stationary product available, upping the cost a mere $.25.

I don't get it. I don't understand why they had to conquer this too. I don't see how people can believe that having the newest, flashy, and expensive school supplies can make you any better at advanced chemistry. I just don't understand. Even school has become commercialized.

What is growing up? Is it getting taller, or is it waking up one day and realizing that you like tomatoes? I've obviously been thinking of new beginning quite a bit recently. At four AM last night I was thinking about what made me who I am. It is all the connected moments, all the spaces in time where I have lived and breathed only for a second.

Now all those moments are stored in my brain as memories. I believe they make up more of who I am than my DNA. At the same time, I feel no connection to them at all. They are things that happened, many, a long time ago. All things I once did, and how I once felt. It all means nothing to me and looking back on it all it doesn't even matter.

I am no longer the person who was in those memories. It's as if they are snapshots of the life of some other girl. I can't piece together the memories of my life with the feelings I felt because I am not even the same person. So is growing up realizing you are someone else?

This is my new beginning.