  I& nbsp; don't know why& nbsp; I created this blog - nbsp; I do not flatter myself into thinking that anything I write is important or original enough to influence others. nbsp;
 I am your typical,  white,  upper- middle- class teenage girl who likes to think she is special.
nbsp;
 I do keep a journal -  a small,  black notebook.
nbsp;
 I never let anybody read it,  not because it protects deep,  dark secrets that have the potential to&
nbsp;
ruin my reputation ( if I have one)  but because I have never written for anybody but myself.
nbsp; nbsp;
 The notebook is full.
nbsp;
 Yesterday,  I filled the last pages exactly two years after I bought it and wrote my first entry.
nbsp;
 My two year anniversary.
nbsp;
 Should I celebrate?
nbsp;
 Celebrate two years' worth of embarassments,  fights with parents,  random crushes,  and bad,  experimental poetry?
nbsp;
 In an attempt at nostalgia,  I tried to read over some of my past writing,  but I couldn't.
nbsp;
 Honestly,  I felt so embarassed at the raw emotion that came through that i slammed the book shut and stuffed it back into its place at the corner of my desk.
nbsp;
 All the things I was so passionate about a year ago,  a month ago,  I don't care about anymore.
nbsp;
 I've moved on,  and I cringe as I read my dramatic words and remember things I would rather forget.
nbsp;
 And then I wonder,  all these&
nbsp;
things I&
nbsp;
am experiencing now -
nbsp;
all the things that are&
nbsp;
really important to me now -
nbsp;
in a few weeks or months,  will they have&
nbsp;
assumed the status of embarassing trivialities that I once obsessed over?
nbsp;
 It is reassuring yet frustrating at the same time.
nbsp;
 While it is a comfort to remember that&
nbsp;
my present worries will soon pass,  I resent the idea that my present worries and obsessions are not as important as I think they are.
nbsp;
 I would rather get pissed over these tiny little problems than go through life chanting,  it could be worse,  it could be worse.
nbsp; nbsp;
 By the way,
nbsp;
I hate that whole philosophy of putting things into perspective.
nbsp; nbsp;
Every time I complain about school or illness or&
nbsp;
a disagreement with a friend,  my parents always tell me to Put It into Perspective.
nbsp;
 It could be worse,  they say,  you could be starving in Africa,  living in a tiny hut with ten siblings.
nbsp; nbsp;
How can you complain about your mild case of strep throat&
nbsp;
when&
nbsp;
millions of people are suffering from AIDS?  they ask me.
nbsp; nbsp;
Well,  because I don't have AIDS.
nbsp;
 And is it really my fault that I have plenty of food in my fridge,  or that I live in a nice house?
nbsp;
 I don't see why I should pretend to be completely happy all of the time&
nbsp;
just because somebody else's life is worse.
nbsp; nbsp;
 I admit&
nbsp; I& nbsp;
sound like a&
nbsp;
brat,  but if you think about it,  Putting Things into Perspective basically guarantees that you won't experience&
nbsp;
raw emotion.
nbsp;
 Unlike many others,  I think of emotion as an asset rather than a weakness.
nbsp; nbsp;
So many people distrust their natural instincts.
nbsp;
 they tell me not to let myself get carried away by my feelings -
 don't make a decision until you have calmed down.
nbsp;
 But they are kidding themselves -  all those people who profess to be objective -
nbsp;
we are all human,  and we all let our feelings influence us.
nbsp;
 And that is not necessarily a bad thing.
nbsp;
 So. yes,  this&
nbsp;
webpage&
nbsp;
will be filled with my random thoughts and&
nbsp;
adolescent&
nbsp;
 angst.
nbsp;
 I apologize,  but these are my problems;  they may seem petty and routine,  but they are all&
nbsp;
mine.
