Of Life and Rebelliousness - and Finding the True Self

I caught a reflection of my self in the window as I walked through the kitchen door, and I thought, "My hair...it's too tame."

And it is indeed. It lay smooth and clean on my head without so much as a stray cowlick to make it look rebellious. I need more rebelliousness. I'm 17. Two months until I am legally an adult. Less than half a year until I go to college. My life is just beginning. I've lived in one little mold for 17 years. I want to break the mold. I'm tired of the monotony. I want to do unpredicatable, nonsensical things. I'll spike out my hair. Tattoo my hands. Get a little tipsy. And one day I'll get in a car and drive away and I won't come back.

Under my parents' watchful gaze, I have grown up protected. I'm surrounded by a layer of lies like a thick gel that covers me. I fall and it will cushion me. I've protected myself from being too independent by dressing normal. From being too opinionated by keeping my mouth shut. I've stayed quietly one the sidelines of life, because I knew if I let myself out, my parents wouldn't like who I am.

See, I'm going on a search. I'm going out to look for little pieces of life that I'll recognize as little missing pieces of myself. Strange things, like underground sci-fi cults, and punky black chokers, and key lime pie gum. Rings that magically fall apart when you take them off. Quirky eye makeup. Trance music. Strawberry daiquiris. Maybe one day I'll come back, but no one will recognize me. Maybe I won't even recognize me.