Big Blue Book

 It’s been so long since I’ve seen or touched it.
There it is, lounging on the dining room table.
I feel like chicken shit, every time I open it.
The first page has smiles drawn on everyone’s face.
Somewhere in the last few pages, I am in the background of some overlapped picture, appearing out of place.
My self image instantly reverts back to how it was.
My mind becomes such a mess.
Who would ever think a big blue book could leave such an effect?
The book is meant to share commemorations, bittersweet moments, and celebrations for everyone who leaves.
It’s a souvenir for ones who will shed a tear, knowing they will not be returning.
But for others, this book only becomes a mortifying reminder of where some stood in the micro world.
The book brings back memories of the recreational events, period bells, and the chatter from hell.
I’m walking down memory lane.
Throughout the journey, I hear all the voices.
They speak of all the naive choices that were made.
All the pranks that were played, all the rumors that were spread, make me feel so relieved this time is dead.
Look at all these pretty pink dresses, stunning smiles, and community some of us bonded together to create.
Even if I tried, I’d still be behind.
This book has served more pain than joy.
To the majority, self image was treated like a toy.
For me, it was a puzzle.
All the nights I cried and the smile I used to cover up the worst lies I could have played out.
But then I close the book and look back in retrospect.
I reflect in my head what the book with very few words and valuable lessons has taught me.
The book has been a guide for what is right and wrong.
I look at the pictures smiling back at me.
I realize how very few of those grins are sincere.
But I no longer fear of what goes on behind the scenes.
For I have survived it all.
This book is my own reward for standing tall.
How could a big, blue book hold such an effect?
In the end, the book reinforces courage, compassion and self respect.