You ask me what’s my story, where do I belong?
“How am I to know?” is my first response. “Where do I go? Where do I belong?”
It’s a tricky question you’ve asked me there. “Don’t you know my history, my history with decisions? That I don’t always make them. I listen to the influence of others.”
Again I hear your question, Who are you? Where do you belong?
Ok, so I guess I”ll think about your question. “I’m a girl, that’s who I am, trying to find my way in this world. With the best of intentions.”
But is that enough? Intention isn’t necessarily action, nor is an action even with the right intention the correct action to have been taken.
“But who determines the correct action?” I fireback. “We follow and we listen to what we have been taught is correct. But who has taught us? Who has taught our teachers? Who has taught our teachers teachers? Just as I begin to question more and more you confuse me even more. You ask me, ‘Where do you belong in this world?’ You expect so much of me. You expect me to know all of the answers and when I don’t you ask me another question. Why are you so hard on me?”
“Is this a lesson to be learned? Or is this your way of having fun?” Deep down… well deep down I know the answer. You are preparing me. You throw nothing my way I can’t handle. I usually perform them with grace and ease. But sometimes I question, when I feel life has thrown far too many curveballs; when I’m annoyed and feel confused where to turn. But it’s ok, I sense you right here, teaching me.
Teaching me to realize that I am never alone. That I only hurt myself when I feel so. When I think of it, I feel your presence. I feel how special I am, I smirk at the fact that it took me so long to come back to you. I smirk because how many times have I done this before? And I smirk again because I can only wonder how many more times this is to come.