Make a wish. Break my leg.

My wish, as a child, was to have a broken leg.
Traditionally, in children's books and such, children are thought of having innocent and generic wishes to become princesses or superheroes. Looking back on my childhood, almost all of us were warped in the mind. All of us latched onto some ideal that looked magical in our eyes, but negligible or dreadful to the rest of adult society.
My wish to break my leg began when my best friend Christina broke her leg. We were seven years old at the time, and in the same 2nd grade class. Secretly, I knew she was cooler than me, even before she broke her leg. In my front lawn, she would do one cart-wheel after another. She made it look effortless, as if she was a windmill with a soft breeze blowing her along. I, on the other hand, feebly tried to do a somersault, but every time I ended up with a mouthful of grass clippings and a sore neck. We were both adventurous, but she always outpaced me. Christina broke my handlebar record on the playground, one which I had coveted since kindergarten. Christina could also jump farther than me. She had a loft bed, and we would spend hours jumping from it onto the floor of her bedroom. She always made a graceful arc through the air.
I remember one day I arrived at school, and Christina's desk was vacant. The teacher explained she was at the doctor's because she had broken her leg while jumping off her bed.
I was shocked and sad, but, secretly, I thought about how she wouldn't be cart-wheeling, jumping, or winning in handlebars any longer. I wondered if her popularity and grace would fall to me, her natural heir.
I was wrong. Christina arrived to school with a pink cast on her leg and a story to tell.
All day I reheard the tale, "I was trying to do a flip through the air, and I almost got it, but then I landed wrong. You wouldn't believe the pain. My leg was like this--" She tried bending her hand backwards, and everyone winced.
I was the only one who noticed the smug look fleeting across her face.
If I thought a cart-wheel would make you noticed, an injury made you a star. Lines would gather to sign her cast, and circles would form to hobble around on her crutches. She laid around all day, like a gluttonous queen, asking people to fetch her crayons, carry her bookbag, and finish her craft projects.
I was no longer Christina's best friend, considering she now had a group of doting servants.
I remember, in class, while we were learning how to multiply, Christina raised her hand.
"Mr. Stevens may I go to the bathroom?"
"Sure," he said, and returned to the board.
She made a slight huff. "But--"
"What is it Christina?"
"I can't get there by myself," she tilted her head towards her cast-bound leg, which rested on a pillow.
"Then what are your crutches for?" I grumbled under my breath. I few people laughed.
Christina shot me a glare.
"I don't see why you need any help," said Mr. Stevens without looking back at her.
"My leg is broken! And my doctor expressly told me--"
"Fine, whatever, someone go with Christina. Don't be gone long."
Christina gave a haughty smile. She waved for one of her servants, and theatrically proceeded to wobble out of the room with grunts of pain.

That afternoon, at recess, those who laughed at my remark found me at the playground. We were finished with Christina. Our plan was this: either prove her broken leg was a fraud, or break our own legs.
We spent a few evenings huddled together, in closets with flashlights, trying to figure out how Christina had faked a broken leg.
"Maybe she threatened the doctor to give her a cast!" suggested one girl.
We nodded in thought.
"Or maybe she swapped out the x-rays."
"Or maybe she bent her leg in a weird way, so it looked broken."
We never found anything conclusive, so we proceeded to phase two: attempting to break our legs.
I drug out my life-size plastic doll from my playroom, and henceforth it was the test dummy.
We would climb to the top of swing sets, soccer goals, tree houses, and tool sheds, and throw the doll off. Then we would inspect, if it looked like she had broken her leg. If yes, we proceeded to jump, if no, we jumped anyway.
But none of us ever broke our leg. We must of been drinking our milk and taking our vitamins. I got bruises and grass stains, but otherwise I was a healthy child. The only excitement we had was when a mom would give a startled scream from the window, and run out trying to stop us.
But I didn't give up on having a broken leg. I, instead, resorted to playing the part. My friends and I would rummage through my dad's socks and start putting on one sock on top of the other. After ten layers of socks it looked like I had a cast. I would then find a long stick or pole and hobble around on "so-called" crutches.
When I and three other girls wobbled into the kitchen, my mom look at us oddly.
"Do you guys have a cast on..?"
"Yes!" we squeled.
"Alright," my mom gave a small laugh and went back to scrubbing a pan.
My mother's acceptance was good enough for me. For the rest of the day we laid around like gluttonous queens--eating cookies and watching movies.

A few goals for the listless

I am a senior in high school, and I have gotten lazy. Isn't this expected? That's what I assumed so I lavished in Sex and the City reruns and going out for good coffee with my boyfriend. The other day my mother said to me, "You have no more ambition." A few days later my brother told me, "You seem half yourself these days." And I knew something was wrong when my friend admitted, "Carmella, I just don't want you to settle."
Thus, a revamped life perspective has been furnished.
And this is what made my mind boil:
So, on Sunday morning I was lying in bed with my ipad reading a local newspaper. This one isn’t about snow day festivities or repaving roads, it’s the counterculture counterpart of my city—rock bands, indie movies, environmental activists, and vegan recipes. I read an interesting review on a documentary and at the bottom of the page was the journalist biography. To my horror it was a high school intern, and she was the editor of an award-winning student magazine. That leads to my first resolution.
 
1. Rekindle my jealousy
​That girl, that high school intern, has sniffed out and taken the opportunities I have been too lazy to look for. I am editor of my school’s literary magazine, but have we won awards? No…I mean, not yet. Am I an intern for the coolest publication in a fifty mile radius? No.
​My jealousy does not spawn stalker tactics, self-loathing, or denial of meaning in the world. My jealousy ignites the fire for my own progress. I have already compiled the phone numbers of all the publications in my city, and I am actually writing for my blog. So, for all those high school literary laureates, I’m gonna catch up.
 
2. Stop worrying about my reputation
​I went to a writer’s conference and an author said, “My first book was co-written by my mother. That is, her voice was always nagging in my head. Whenever I tried to write a sex scene it felt like my mother was in the story, sitting on the edge of bed glaring. Eventually, I had to flick her off my shoulder and write honestly. Now I write sex scenes so honestly I need a cold shower afterwards.” I have a pseudonym to protect my reputation, but I still carefully toe the line because most of my readers know me personally. Right now all of you are loitering on my shoulder. Saying, “that’s mean”, “that’s too sentimental”, “you did that?”, “does your mom know about that?”.  You have invaded, interrupted, and deleted my words too many times. As of 2011, you are being kicked out.
 
3. Embrace the present
​I spent over an hour today imagining my future life. Today I was leading an anti-corruption media campaign in Burma. I was investigating military leaders and heads of state, and I discovered they are buying nuclear warheads from North Korea. In one scenario, there is an assassination attempt against me. The bullet grazes my shoulder, but the friend,I was having dinner with, Aung san suu Kyi was shot in the stomach. Somehow we flee the scene and I administer care to Aunng and I. I call a doctor I can trust (what if the assasins find me at the hospital?), the doctor arranges for us to be flown out of the country. I carry Aun< g into a deserted field were we are picked up by a helicopter, and flown into Thailand. Scenerio number two, is that I am kidnapped and held hostage by Burma military when they discover that I know about their nuclear warhead trading. While I am in prison, NATO arranges for a covert band of spies to free me. I successfully escape prison and flee the country. In both scenarios, I am flown to Washington D.C and inform the president about the Burma and North Korea alliance. (I imagine and plot multiple future escapades a day.) ​This took up half my morning. My resolution is to live in the present, and embrace my reality. Make more friends, have adventures, and reach for those opportunities.

 
Aung San Suu Kyi: Nobel prize winner, political prisoner, symbol of peace, my BFF!!!