Trying To Control A Person's Life Is Never A Good Plan Because They're Not Puppets

Trying To Control A Person's Life Is Never A Good Plan Because They're Not Puppets

They deserve freedom to try to explore whatever they want, so they can start figuring out themselves.

Many people have told me that becoming a writer would be a waste of time. Who would want to read my writing? Who would even be interested in it? They posed so many questions against my choice of becoming a writer that I've lost some interest in this dream job. I've lost interest in many things due to people criticizing what I do.

Throughout my life, I have lived a constant replay of "You'll do this" or "No, you won't do that because I say so." My entire life was motorized. I was tied with strings that ended wound up in a cross-shaped controller, and anybody who was older than me was the puppeteer. I was allowed to watch certain TV shows, listen to certain music, hang out with certain people. In my life growing up, I was never allowed to make mistakes.

It felt like I was being built up by everybody else to fit the image of the perfect human being that they envisioned— to be who they wanted me to be, not who I felt like I wanted to be. If I ever made the smallest of mistake, I had committed the worse offense toward people that would never be forgotten. Maybe forgiven, but never forgotten. I was taught to be perfect in a way that stopped me from doing things that others thought of as impure.

Acting in a "deviant" way was never an option for me. My goal was always school: straight As and all that shit. Getting a B was like getting an F. The disappointment of getting a B in my family was tremendous. I would have to study more to raise my grades, if not... I never wanted to find out how that sentence finished. Choices were made for me throughout my entire life. Maybe the only choices I ever got to make were what books I wanted to read or deciding to move to the US. My parents were against my first relationship. They said that they didn't like her and that I should break up with her. Now, I'm dating a guy, and they found out and they are trying to "fix me."

Even if I am far from the incarcerators that once tried to cuff me, even while miles away from them, they're still trying to maneuver each of my limbs and each of my thoughts.

It's so exhausting. Trying to find yourself when you never had a sense of individualism is pretty hard. And sometimes, it seems futile. You might not really know what you really like; you'll lose interest in the things you were forced to like; you might start doing things that aren't good for you because you just don't know what the heck.

It's all smiles and rainbows when you have somebody telling you what to do, but once you grow out of that shell you feel alone and helpless, and that is the worst thing that could ever happen to anybody.

Cover Image Credit: Pexels

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Quality Time

Have we lost the ability to enjoy each other's company?


So, one day, this older man saw this young and happy couple walk into a nice (but modestly-priced) Italian restaraunt together, hand in hand. They were giggling and laughing. He looked at her like she was some Renaissance-era painting. She looked at him like he ruled the world. The older dude just gazed at them fondly (not like some creep, because some old guys do that you know). They were led by the host to their table. He pulled out her chair for him. She beamed. They both ordered water because they were probably on a budget (or they really like water). The old man smiled (again not a creepy one, but a for-real sentimental one). Then, it happened. The dagger that was drawn. The stone that fell. The smile that became downcast. The date that was demolished: The young man pulled out his cellphone. Not to be outdone, the young woman soon pulled out hers, and the emotional and loving expressions were turned to grey pallets of nothingness. The older man, feeling very brash, lifted himself from his chair very slowly but determined. He bounded (what it seemed like to him) over to the young man and grabbed his phone right out of his hands. The young man, preparing to defend himself from said attacker and thief, was relieved to see who had actually taken his phone because he knew he could take it right back himself if he wanted. The old man looked down at the young couple, then, looking at the guy said these cool, crisp words:

"If you're not careful, this (the phone) will become your mistress."

Grandpa has gone off his meds. Literally. How could a phone be a mistress? How could someone pay more attention to an object rather than a living being right in front of his nose? How could we trade up the ones we love for the ones we have to charge?

I'm no expert at prioritizing my time. This story is as much for me as for anyone. I'm still learning so much. But, what I have learned so far has become so life-changing to me. A mistress(or anything really) doesn't have to be a secret person or a quiet pastime. It can just be anything that we are spending a majority of our time with that shouldn't top our priority list.

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