terça-feira, 19 de junho de 2012

Dia 320

I've never been the prettiest, or the smartest, and you all know that. I've never been rich, nor raised to be a proper lady, and it's nobody's fault. Now I know that. Some people think that living in a wealthier part of town makes you posh - there's this myth that we are more well-off, and as a result, more polite, more well-treated, more loved; there's the urban legend that just because you study in a private school you'll have more direction and less problems. Have you ever heard of white trash? Teenagers who start drinking too soon, clothes bought at big department stores downtown, empty head spinning hard, vague thoughts, blood-shot eyes, no desire to dream, no ambitions, no tomorrow. Unattended, unwilling, unaware of the fact that they might actually make the difference someday. I used to walk to school and starve at lunchtime to have money for shots at the weekend. I spent a long time in the streets, hanging out with other people like me, and we loved skateboarding and rap and rock'n'roll - secretly I dreamt about the Back Street Boys and Leonardo Di Caprio. I created a unique style out of rags and 48 kilos; I drank and cursed and said what I pleased. I smoked a pack of cigarettes a day and didn't mean to be good at school - there was no manual to handle my recklessness. I was quite wild, but even the wildest girls want to be princesses for one day. That's why when I watched this video I felt less nostalgic than sorry - I realised that, back then, in spite of who I was or what it meant, I could've had mine.

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