The following is a journal entry I prepared for my literature class. We had the choice to write about anything as long as it aptly portrayed our "voice," as if a single piece of writing could sum up my weirdly inconsistent way of speaking.

At times, I incorporate sophisticated vocabulary into my statements in a veiled attempt to sound like I have some grain of wisdom, but at others, I consciously tend toward simple language to avoid sounding pretentious or unnecessarily convoluted. The result is a hodgepodge of voices, no singular one appealing enough for me to claim it as my own. Regardless, I used my journal entry as a means to question the authenticity of my own "voice" while highlighting the incredible indecisiveness I feel as a teen.

To all my peers who have elected to become politically active, I commend you both for your bravery and for your decisiveness. It baffles me as to how someone of my age could have their views so clearly determined, especially with enough confidence to share those views with the world. Personally, I don’t know what I believe. I do know one thing, though: everyone has some kind of expectation for what I’m supposed to care about. I’m encouraged to “figure it out” and to voice my opinion when I haven’t yet decided what that opinion is. I’m unaware of what, if anything, my voice happens to be, seeing as my impressionable teenage years have been so clearly defined by the voices around me. How am I to know when a thought is my own when the world tries so persistently to shape my perspective?

Every word I write sounds and feels like a regurgitation of something I heard years ago, and, to a degree, every stance I take is a product of my upbringing and of my current environment. Although it’s generally a subconscious absorption of ideas, at times I recognize the derivative nature of my words and reject them altogether, instead opting to stay silent. Perhaps projecting your voice should be worth the risk of sounding unoriginal, but I’m not sure I believe the words I’m saying to begin with. At the very least, I can find comfort in my future, where, hopefully, I’ll have experienced enough to distinguish outside opinions from my own, crafting my own distinct voice in the process. For now, though, I guess this is the best I have.