Do you ever just see someone and wonder who they are? Wonder where they came from, who they know, why they’re here, where they’re going.
I saw a girl in a red Camry. She had to be a teenager but lived a life of a 25-year-old. Her hair was violet. She wore sunglasses even though the sun was hiding behind rain clouds. I, rocking my head back to my tunes, drove up next to her. She wasn’t driving the car or even in the passenger seat; Violet (as she will be called) sat in the back. Violet gave me only a few seconds of attention then darted her face elsewhere. She put a Juul to her mouth and inhaled the flavorful smoke. Blowing it out calmed the tension forming on her face muscles.
I stared at Violet longer than she stared at me. She probably felt uncomfortable with my peering eyes. I don’t blame her; I too feel uncomfortable when someone stares too long. When an individual stares and concentrates on someone else, that means two things: You either have some sort of interest in the person or your mind is somewhere else. I had every chance to look away, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was interested in her. I wasn’t interested in the way of wanting her; although, she was a beautiful soul. She might have assumed that I coveted her. She wasn’t wrong. I did covet her; however, I didn’t cover her body. I coveted her life.
No, I’m not saying I’d rather be Violet a random young girl hitting a Juul in the back of an old red Camry that’s being driven by two huge Indian men with beards – no. I just wanted to know her. I want to know where she came from; who she surrounded herself with. I wanted to see her eyes and see what was held behind those eyes.
So many good, fictional stories are not truly fictional. They all have a basis of truth. Yeah, a lot of it can be made up, but those stories are started from somewhere. No great fictional piece is only crafted by someone’s mind. I’m sorry, but we don’t have the power to do that.
I write all of this to get around to one point, which is my writing style. I sometimes prefer solitude in the corners to watch and observe. I sit and study people; I covet them. I covet their stories, their origins. I covet to learn the reason why individuals react or don’t react in certain ways. What have they faced? What haven’t they faced? I believe everyone has a unique story. Some just have a completely unique life.
We mask ourselves in public, in the streets. We put up a fake facade to all act like normal individuals in a society built from other fake facades. We’re all freaks behind closed doors. We all hold dear to huge secrets/ideas/memories that we rather not share with anyone. We don’t share because we’re too afraid of what they would think of us.
My blog is meant to document all of these things. Document the Violets living in the same world I am. The same people who walk the same streets as I, order the same food as I, deal with the same hardships as I. My blog is meant to show the same people we walk by and highlight their actual crazy life. To prove that so many other people have a great story just waiting to be documented and shared. My blog will find and document all the beautiful Essence of Pensacola.