Unwritten

When I was little I was tested twice for the GATE program, which focuses on those who are part of a sect of intelligence that are able to solve puzzles. I passed both times, the second time shocking my school into submission because they hadn't gotten the records saying that I had already taken the test before.

"Oh, I guess she really is a GATE student." Ya think?

So anyways. My parents expected for me to grow up at become a scientist, a doctor, an engineer, something like that. Maybe even a Mathematician, though I've never quite had the patience for all of those equations. Instead, I began devoting my life to the arts. From the age of eight I've played the piano (even though I can't really read music sheets), I've been writing stories since I was six, I've been writing poetry since sixth grade, and occasionally I draw something that looks right. For years my parents tried to persuade me to follow the path of the engineer because they wanted me to make a lot of money, but I wouldn't have it so eventually they just gave up.

So here I am now, in ninth grade, constantly improving my skills in art and possibly reaching out to the path of the Psychologist. Why is it that I, a puzzle solver, would rather write about all the different ways the light may glint off a bowl made of glass instead of figuring out how the wooden table underneath it was constructed?

Sometimes I really just don't understand life.

Also, it has occurred to me that so far on this blog I've only talked about myself. The next post I make will be about someone else, I can promise that.