I've just recently come across
this wonderful essays that's been going around the internet
DATE ME BECAUSE I’M JUST A GIRL
With all the ‘Date a girl who…’ writings out there, I can’t help but smile at the attributes I share and ache at the attributes I don’t share. I am a girl, sure, but I am not the girl who has read all the classics or even give much a care for them other than their importance to my classes. I am not the girl who spends all my long hours writing in a journal to create some world I hope someday will exist to others. I am not the girl who sits at a bar looking for a little fun or some company to take my mind away from my struggles.
I am just a girl, with this attribute and that, looking for someone I can share my crazy, colorful and bland world with. Just because I haven’t read Tolstoy, Dickens, or Twain, or have a story waiting to be expressed, or go out there to live a little, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t date me.
And that should be enough of a reason for you to date me.
Sure I enjoyed Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, even some of Shakespeare and Doyle. I’ve had my share of the Bronte sisters, shed a couple of tears with Austen and have gone on adventures I have only dreamed of with Verne and Carroll. Sure, those are the classics and they are called classics for a reason. They transcend the scope of time and tug at the hearts of the generations to follow. But that doesn’t mean I’ve read them all and enjoyed them all. Jay Gatsby isn’t the most interesting character I have ever read about and his tale with Daisy still fails to come to me as love. Romeo failed to incite an emotion out of me as he brought the chalice to his lips or Juliet as she drove the dagger home. Thoreau fell short as I read…or tried to read Walden Pond. I never could get past Hawthorne’s excessive descriptions about a rosebush.
I read classics, sure, to expand my knowledge on why the world calls them classics and why they have transcended time as they have. I understand with some and my mind lacks the necessary knowledge to connect with others. I also read classics because I have to for my classes. Am I still a girl who reads?
Yes, you may call me an avid reader for reading the classics, but would you call me such, would you date me, or even consider me a reader if I only read Twilight? Would you still call me a reader if I’ve still read almost every book in that section or the teen’s section of the library or at the local bookstore? Would you still call me a girl who reads if I read what’s mainstream like Rowling, Collins, Roth, Clare, Patterson, Sparks, King?
It’s all the same to me. They are all words printed on a page, bringing forth a motley arrangement of characters, places, events and ideas that take me away from the negatives and blatancy of the world that surrounds me. They all take me on adventures to places that I so long to exist I reality. They all introduce me to people who may or may never appear down the streets of my town or that city or that country. They foretell and retell events that could happen…have happened.
I walk in through a door of uncertainty and infinite possibilities every time I pick up a book and I loose myself, sure, but I still keep that chain to the real world present and keep myself at bay with reality. I cry over fictional characters that have died and fall in love with fictional characters as well. I predict events that will happen in novels and get overly excited when I get them right and shrug it off when I don’t. I will mark a characters birthday on my calendar and say a quick happy birthday that morning. I make characters come to life, but that doesn’t mean it’s all I do.
Yes, I am a girl who reads, but I am not the girl described in Date A Girl Who Reads. I share some attributes, but I am still not her.
I am a girl who writes, but I am not. I spend hours a day at my keyboard, typing away and painting images in my head of a world, as stated before, that I someday hope to share with the rest of this world. I do sit in class, plotting on the edges of my notes and I never mind a few deducted points for doodles and notes that are irrelevant to the class. I became a girl who writes, because of what I read and it was not the classics that influenced me, but the stuff everyone calls mainstream.
You will find me in the middle of WalMart with a pen in hand, writing a conflict or climax on the bare skin of my forearm, forgetting there’s a cart bumping me from behind. Sure I will suddenly gasp at an Aha! moment in the middle of a silent room because a brilliant idea has decided to crash land into my pile of ideas. Sure I will stay up until two in the morning typing away, sipping my tea, coffee, soda, or simple water, in the fear of losing something so beautiful that it can only be written once. Sure I will wake up at three in the morning to scribble a random thought into a journal.
I will cry and throw a fit if the final chapter to my novel has suddenly disappeared or if my computer miraculously crashes to delete year’s worth of work. I will most likely cry for days as if I have lost someone dear in my life. I will ignore the world for a couple of weeks and silently weep to myself at night because those words may never come back to me ever again. But it gives me the opportunity to rewrite and make something better. It makes room for development and change.
I create worlds where islands float and pigs can fly. People can have green skin, scales, a tail or flames for hair. I create worlds where buildings can reach the moon and physical bridges connect two worlds. I create worlds where a boy can love a boy and a girl can love a girl. I create worlds where the government may be good and it is the people who are bad. I create worlds because they are not the world I live in and because my mind hungers to explore worlds that will or might never be. I write because it is my escape, as reading may be your escape, or partying theirs, shopping hers, drinking his and all the other escapes out there. And sometimes, I write so much I forget reality exists…and I suddenly realize, I need a break from writing too.
I may write and make characters witty, sarcastic, vulnerable or bad ass, but that doesn’t mean I will understand the emotions of the world and how they work with real people. That won’t mean I’ll understand loosing someone to suicide or drug, over dose or cancer or murder. That doesn’t mean I’ll understand what a rape victim thinks when someone grazes their arm. That doesn’t mean I’ll understand being the child of someone in the army or understand what it means to have a family member with down syndrome. I may write, but that doesn’t mean I will understand all the emotions in the world or even come close.
I will still try to understand what you are feeling. I will try to understand you failures and try to share them with you, because I too have failed in my own fields and I can relate in one way or the other. I will be there when you do succeed, to congratulate you as I am sure you would do for me. I will try to understand and share your success if you would let me. I will try to understand when you need space and when you need something to take your mind off of. I will simply try to understand. I may understand this time, but I may not understand that time, but at least I’m trying.
I may never write about our love story, because I feel like that story is one we should cherish alone. One that is special to only us without others knowing the secrets and hidden fears we tell each other that made our story different. I probably won’t write you letters or poems or songs because writing from one character’s perspective to another character and writing to an actual person is different. I know how the characters will react, Ican make them react anyway I want, but I cannot control how you will react. I may not get all enthusiastic about what I am writing or tell you the hidden meanings of that flower or the significance of that scene because maybe their significance is something I am not ready to share with you or because I might feel like it’ll take away from the magic and mystery of the words and the things between the lines.
I write, but I am not the girl in Date A Girl Who Writes
I spend my money on books, most of the time that’s what I think of first when I get some green in my hands, but it’s not what I think about all the time. I also think about the warm knit sweaters I can wear in the winter so I can be outside when I read or write. I think about buying that journal and this journal to jot down notes about my story, create sketches of this character from that book and that place from this book. I think about buying the pens and highlighters that won’t bleed through the pages of my favorite book, or writes smoothly on any surface I choose to write on-skin, napkins, coupons, recites, clothing. I think about the places I want to go to experience the world first hand; to understand the life in books I’ve read, stories I want to write and look for some new fun outside the confidence of my small home town. Sometimes, I just think about clothes that will make me stand out amongst the other girls you will pass that day.
Sometimes I think about the car part I will need to buy so I can drive to work or pick up my siblings. Sometimes I think about the food I crave over the book I want to read. Sometimes I think about the little ornaments that I think would make my room look like who I am on the inside. Other times…I think about the little gifts I want to buy for the people I care about.
Am I still the girl who reads or writes as those writings say?
I will be that girl who is stubborn. I will be that girl who would take a few hours out of my writing and reading schedule to go to the mall to look for something nice to wear or spend a few hours watching that soup opera or that cartoon I watched as a kid. I will be that girl who would want to sit on a couch staring at a blank screen with you and do nothing. I will be that girl in the kitchen trying to flip pancakes and horribly failing only to have the batter in my hair; or that girl trying to wash her dog and getting mad because the dog rolls in mud right after. I will be that girl who rolls her eyes when your socks aren’t matching or if your shirt is some obscuring pattern. I will be that girl who points out your grammar mistakes and then make some of my own. I will be that girl who will sit and eat ice cream or Twinkies or a salad and enjoy what I’m eating.
If I am no longer that girl, then you can leave.
There’s a girl who reads. There’s a girl who writes. There’s a girl who’s illiterate. There’s a girl who likes fashion. There’s a girl who likes anime. There’s a girl who reads comics. There’s a girl who cooks. There’s a girl who likes and plays sports. There’s a girl who acts. There’s a girl who eats. There’s a girl who dances. There’s a girl who paints. There’s a girl who constructs. There’s a girl who cries. There’s a girl who stands tall. There’s a girl who’s vulnerable. There’s a girl who plays an instrument. There’s a girl who sings. There’s a girl who lives.
But what do they all have in common?
If you are looking for a girl that is just that, please turn away from me and don’t keep my hopes up. If you’re looking for a girl who is just that, know I am not her. I read, I write, I paint, I cry, I smile, I live, I have fun, I love fashion, I love to create. I can’t play instruments, I can’t play sports, I can’t cook without burning something, I can’t act unless I’m acting up, I can’t play an instrument unless you want to hear a stampede of elephants over crows. I don’t have a lot of money, I don’t have the best wardrobe, I don’t have a real functioning car, I don’t have the best, soundest family and I sure as don’t have time for a boy who wants just that in a girl.
I will try to give you the life we both want to share with each other. I will try to give you the kids that will make us both happy and realize exactly how seemingly perfect we were meant to be. I will, and will try to pitch in the money bag so we can by that car and that house where I hope we can both spend our long endless days together reading, telling stories, writing, having fun, raising our kids, doing absolutely nothing. I may scold you for improper grammar, but notice how I make my own mistakes. I may argue with you if you don’t like the book I’ve read or you didn’t like, but notice how I will still listen to you even if you’re talking about Dr. Seuss being your favorite. I may not be into sports, but see how I am willing to sit and ask you about the game as we watch it. I may talk like I’m smarter than you at times, but notice how I take everything you say into consideration and don’t mind admitting when you’re right and let you take control every now and then.
Am I still that girl?
Who am I, or she, or he to tell you who you deserve to date or who that girl deserves in her life? I am great for who I am. She is great for who she is. You are great for who you are. We are great in all different shapes, forms, sizes, colors, and aspects. There is no one definite image of greatness, and if there is, please do share it with me and the rest of the world so we know our standards.
So what kind of girl am I?
I may not be pretty. I may not have nice, tamed hair. I may not have the nicest clothes or always look prepared and well kept. I may not have piercings or tattoos or like tight fitting clothes. I may not like showing skin at all. I may not know how to walk in heels or like wearing sneakers all the time. I may not have a model body or I may be shorter than the average height. I may be overweight or underweight, dark or light. I may be this or I may be that, but I am still a girl.
What if I weren’t any of this? Do I still deserve love?
I am just a girl, with this attribute and that, looking for someone I can share my crazy, colorful and bland world with. I’m just a girl who wants someone to talk to. I am just a girl who wants someone to hold my hand when I’m scare or someone to join me when I eat. I’m just a girl who wants sweet little kisses and protective embraces. I am just a girl who wants someone to argue with and laugh with and watch movies with and have fun with. I’m just a girl who wants a boy to love me for me as I will love him for him. I’m just a girl who wants my future love…to be my support, my comfort, my enemy, my best friend.
I’m just a girl who wants to be loved and to love.
And that should be enough of a reason for you to date me
With all the ‘Date a girl who…’ writings out there, I can’t help but smile at the attributes I share and ache at the attributes I don’t share. I am a girl, sure, but I am not the girl who has read all the classics or even give much a care for them other than their importance to my classes. I am not the girl who spends all my long hours writing in a journal to create some world I hope someday will exist to others. I am not the girl who sits at a bar looking for a little fun or some company to take my mind away from my struggles.
I am just a girl, with this attribute and that, looking for someone I can share my crazy, colorful and bland world with. Just because I haven’t read Tolstoy, Dickens, or Twain, or have a story waiting to be expressed, or go out there to live a little, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t date me.
And that should be enough of a reason for you to date me.
Sure I enjoyed Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, even some of Shakespeare and Doyle. I’ve had my share of the Bronte sisters, shed a couple of tears with Austen and have gone on adventures I have only dreamed of with Verne and Carroll. Sure, those are the classics and they are called classics for a reason. They transcend the scope of time and tug at the hearts of the generations to follow. But that doesn’t mean I’ve read them all and enjoyed them all. Jay Gatsby isn’t the most interesting character I have ever read about and his tale with Daisy still fails to come to me as love. Romeo failed to incite an emotion out of me as he brought the chalice to his lips or Juliet as she drove the dagger home. Thoreau fell short as I read…or tried to read Walden Pond. I never could get past Hawthorne’s excessive descriptions about a rosebush.
I read classics, sure, to expand my knowledge on why the world calls them classics and why they have transcended time as they have. I understand with some and my mind lacks the necessary knowledge to connect with others. I also read classics because I have to for my classes. Am I still a girl who reads?
Yes, you may call me an avid reader for reading the classics, but would you call me such, would you date me, or even consider me a reader if I only read Twilight? Would you still call me a reader if I’ve still read almost every book in that section or the teen’s section of the library or at the local bookstore? Would you still call me a girl who reads if I read what’s mainstream like Rowling, Collins, Roth, Clare, Patterson, Sparks, King?
It’s all the same to me. They are all words printed on a page, bringing forth a motley arrangement of characters, places, events and ideas that take me away from the negatives and blatancy of the world that surrounds me. They all take me on adventures to places that I so long to exist I reality. They all introduce me to people who may or may never appear down the streets of my town or that city or that country. They foretell and retell events that could happen…have happened.
I walk in through a door of uncertainty and infinite possibilities every time I pick up a book and I loose myself, sure, but I still keep that chain to the real world present and keep myself at bay with reality. I cry over fictional characters that have died and fall in love with fictional characters as well. I predict events that will happen in novels and get overly excited when I get them right and shrug it off when I don’t. I will mark a characters birthday on my calendar and say a quick happy birthday that morning. I make characters come to life, but that doesn’t mean it’s all I do.
Yes, I am a girl who reads, but I am not the girl described in Date A Girl Who Reads. I share some attributes, but I am still not her.
I am a girl who writes, but I am not. I spend hours a day at my keyboard, typing away and painting images in my head of a world, as stated before, that I someday hope to share with the rest of this world. I do sit in class, plotting on the edges of my notes and I never mind a few deducted points for doodles and notes that are irrelevant to the class. I became a girl who writes, because of what I read and it was not the classics that influenced me, but the stuff everyone calls mainstream.
You will find me in the middle of WalMart with a pen in hand, writing a conflict or climax on the bare skin of my forearm, forgetting there’s a cart bumping me from behind. Sure I will suddenly gasp at an Aha! moment in the middle of a silent room because a brilliant idea has decided to crash land into my pile of ideas. Sure I will stay up until two in the morning typing away, sipping my tea, coffee, soda, or simple water, in the fear of losing something so beautiful that it can only be written once. Sure I will wake up at three in the morning to scribble a random thought into a journal.
I will cry and throw a fit if the final chapter to my novel has suddenly disappeared or if my computer miraculously crashes to delete year’s worth of work. I will most likely cry for days as if I have lost someone dear in my life. I will ignore the world for a couple of weeks and silently weep to myself at night because those words may never come back to me ever again. But it gives me the opportunity to rewrite and make something better. It makes room for development and change.
I create worlds where islands float and pigs can fly. People can have green skin, scales, a tail or flames for hair. I create worlds where buildings can reach the moon and physical bridges connect two worlds. I create worlds where a boy can love a boy and a girl can love a girl. I create worlds where the government may be good and it is the people who are bad. I create worlds because they are not the world I live in and because my mind hungers to explore worlds that will or might never be. I write because it is my escape, as reading may be your escape, or partying theirs, shopping hers, drinking his and all the other escapes out there. And sometimes, I write so much I forget reality exists…and I suddenly realize, I need a break from writing too.
I may write and make characters witty, sarcastic, vulnerable or bad ass, but that doesn’t mean I will understand the emotions of the world and how they work with real people. That won’t mean I’ll understand loosing someone to suicide or drug, over dose or cancer or murder. That doesn’t mean I’ll understand what a rape victim thinks when someone grazes their arm. That doesn’t mean I’ll understand being the child of someone in the army or understand what it means to have a family member with down syndrome. I may write, but that doesn’t mean I will understand all the emotions in the world or even come close.
I will still try to understand what you are feeling. I will try to understand you failures and try to share them with you, because I too have failed in my own fields and I can relate in one way or the other. I will be there when you do succeed, to congratulate you as I am sure you would do for me. I will try to understand and share your success if you would let me. I will try to understand when you need space and when you need something to take your mind off of. I will simply try to understand. I may understand this time, but I may not understand that time, but at least I’m trying.
I may never write about our love story, because I feel like that story is one we should cherish alone. One that is special to only us without others knowing the secrets and hidden fears we tell each other that made our story different. I probably won’t write you letters or poems or songs because writing from one character’s perspective to another character and writing to an actual person is different. I know how the characters will react, Ican make them react anyway I want, but I cannot control how you will react. I may not get all enthusiastic about what I am writing or tell you the hidden meanings of that flower or the significance of that scene because maybe their significance is something I am not ready to share with you or because I might feel like it’ll take away from the magic and mystery of the words and the things between the lines.
I write, but I am not the girl in Date A Girl Who Writes
I spend my money on books, most of the time that’s what I think of first when I get some green in my hands, but it’s not what I think about all the time. I also think about the warm knit sweaters I can wear in the winter so I can be outside when I read or write. I think about buying that journal and this journal to jot down notes about my story, create sketches of this character from that book and that place from this book. I think about buying the pens and highlighters that won’t bleed through the pages of my favorite book, or writes smoothly on any surface I choose to write on-skin, napkins, coupons, recites, clothing. I think about the places I want to go to experience the world first hand; to understand the life in books I’ve read, stories I want to write and look for some new fun outside the confidence of my small home town. Sometimes, I just think about clothes that will make me stand out amongst the other girls you will pass that day.
Sometimes I think about the car part I will need to buy so I can drive to work or pick up my siblings. Sometimes I think about the food I crave over the book I want to read. Sometimes I think about the little ornaments that I think would make my room look like who I am on the inside. Other times…I think about the little gifts I want to buy for the people I care about.
Am I still the girl who reads or writes as those writings say?
I will be that girl who is stubborn. I will be that girl who would take a few hours out of my writing and reading schedule to go to the mall to look for something nice to wear or spend a few hours watching that soup opera or that cartoon I watched as a kid. I will be that girl who would want to sit on a couch staring at a blank screen with you and do nothing. I will be that girl in the kitchen trying to flip pancakes and horribly failing only to have the batter in my hair; or that girl trying to wash her dog and getting mad because the dog rolls in mud right after. I will be that girl who rolls her eyes when your socks aren’t matching or if your shirt is some obscuring pattern. I will be that girl who points out your grammar mistakes and then make some of my own. I will be that girl who will sit and eat ice cream or Twinkies or a salad and enjoy what I’m eating.
If I am no longer that girl, then you can leave.
There’s a girl who reads. There’s a girl who writes. There’s a girl who’s illiterate. There’s a girl who likes fashion. There’s a girl who likes anime. There’s a girl who reads comics. There’s a girl who cooks. There’s a girl who likes and plays sports. There’s a girl who acts. There’s a girl who eats. There’s a girl who dances. There’s a girl who paints. There’s a girl who constructs. There’s a girl who cries. There’s a girl who stands tall. There’s a girl who’s vulnerable. There’s a girl who plays an instrument. There’s a girl who sings. There’s a girl who lives.
But what do they all have in common?
If you are looking for a girl that is just that, please turn away from me and don’t keep my hopes up. If you’re looking for a girl who is just that, know I am not her. I read, I write, I paint, I cry, I smile, I live, I have fun, I love fashion, I love to create. I can’t play instruments, I can’t play sports, I can’t cook without burning something, I can’t act unless I’m acting up, I can’t play an instrument unless you want to hear a stampede of elephants over crows. I don’t have a lot of money, I don’t have the best wardrobe, I don’t have a real functioning car, I don’t have the best, soundest family and I sure as don’t have time for a boy who wants just that in a girl.
I will try to give you the life we both want to share with each other. I will try to give you the kids that will make us both happy and realize exactly how seemingly perfect we were meant to be. I will, and will try to pitch in the money bag so we can by that car and that house where I hope we can both spend our long endless days together reading, telling stories, writing, having fun, raising our kids, doing absolutely nothing. I may scold you for improper grammar, but notice how I make my own mistakes. I may argue with you if you don’t like the book I’ve read or you didn’t like, but notice how I will still listen to you even if you’re talking about Dr. Seuss being your favorite. I may not be into sports, but see how I am willing to sit and ask you about the game as we watch it. I may talk like I’m smarter than you at times, but notice how I take everything you say into consideration and don’t mind admitting when you’re right and let you take control every now and then.
Am I still that girl?
Who am I, or she, or he to tell you who you deserve to date or who that girl deserves in her life? I am great for who I am. She is great for who she is. You are great for who you are. We are great in all different shapes, forms, sizes, colors, and aspects. There is no one definite image of greatness, and if there is, please do share it with me and the rest of the world so we know our standards.
So what kind of girl am I?
I may not be pretty. I may not have nice, tamed hair. I may not have the nicest clothes or always look prepared and well kept. I may not have piercings or tattoos or like tight fitting clothes. I may not like showing skin at all. I may not know how to walk in heels or like wearing sneakers all the time. I may not have a model body or I may be shorter than the average height. I may be overweight or underweight, dark or light. I may be this or I may be that, but I am still a girl.
What if I weren’t any of this? Do I still deserve love?
I am just a girl, with this attribute and that, looking for someone I can share my crazy, colorful and bland world with. I’m just a girl who wants someone to talk to. I am just a girl who wants someone to hold my hand when I’m scare or someone to join me when I eat. I’m just a girl who wants sweet little kisses and protective embraces. I am just a girl who wants someone to argue with and laugh with and watch movies with and have fun with. I’m just a girl who wants a boy to love me for me as I will love him for him. I’m just a girl who wants my future love…to be my support, my comfort, my enemy, my best friend.
I’m just a girl who wants to be loved and to love.
And that should be enough of a reason for you to date me
P.S. So find a girl who you will fall in love with despite her perfections and imperfections. Find a girl who you want to see every morning when you open your eyes and before you sleep, a girl with whom you'll fight, but will never let her go. Accept her for who she is, and then she'll make your world beautiful! :)
God Blez.
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