My Safe Place
My Bedroom is big. I don’t share it, it’s just me. It’s hard to fill such a big space when there is only one person. The walls are boring and white. On the smallest wall, I have 4 small, and very random paintings. I wanted to add something to distract from how white the walls are so I splattered purple and pink paint all over very small canvases and then I hung them up. I typically don’t even acknowledge the paintings, but when I do, I wonder why I chose purple and pink considering my bedding is different shades of blue.
The walls may be boring but they are still my walls. And on the inside of those wall, is everything I own that is truly valuable. My room is pretty interesting aside from the walls. It has my purple rug that I wanted so badly for Christmas, that feels so soft on my bare feet. It has my desk that was once my sister’s, but she passed it down. It has a ton of random small things that I love. It had small bottles of lotion and perfume, pictures of friends and family, and small but meaningful objects I’ve collected over the years. Next to my desk is one of my closets. It has these hooks on them where I hang all of my jackets, sweatshirts, and scarves. I don’t know why I love it so much, I just love having my clothes on display. It shows a little more of my personality.
My room is plain white and cold looking, but once inside it is so warm and cozy. I have sheer blue curtains that allow the warm sun to shine through. The memories of fun times with friends and slumber parties with my sisters fill the room. My bedroom is my safe place and I love it more than anything.
Hair like the Sun
Her Hair is this bright, bright strawberry blonde. Unlike anyone else in my family. I have no idea where she got it from, I mean even her eyebrows and eyelashes are orange.
One of my sisters has blonde hair and the other has brown, My moms is a nice mix between orange and blonde, but she dyes it. Savannah, However, has pin straight, thing, orange hair. It’s so different and so random, but it perfectly suits her.
She has this fiery personality, she believes in her own things, does what she wants, and doesn’t regret anything. She’s only seven, but she’s so unique. She’s her very own person, and her hair shows it. It’s soft and warm. It radiates love and safety like the sun.
She’s lucky to have such hair. I wish we shared the same hair, that mine was that same orangey shade. Everyone’s jealous of it, how could they not be. Her hair is so simple yet so beautiful. I couldn’t picture it any other way.
Before my name was Kylie, it was Madison. And before that, Elizabeth. And before that, an infinite amount of names that flowed through my mom’s head as she was pregnant with me. She was very indecisive when it came to my name. In fact, the name Kylie was on her no list. My aunt suggested it but she could never imagine giving me such a name. What changed her mind was a book, just a book. My mom has a deep love for reading and when she read a book with a character named Kylie, she fell in love.
What seemed like the most ridiculous name became my name, the best name for me. Or at least that's what she thought. Growing up I hated my name. It was boring. It was too boring to remember, but too different to spell or even pronounce right. I've heard and seen countless versions of my name, some that just don't make sense. How can people mistake Kylie for Kaylee or Kyle? And most people think its spelt Kiley. "Who spells it Kylie", they sometimes say. It’s such a simple name made complicated.
I would dream of my name being Madison. It would drive me insane that my mom gave up such beautiful name for Kylie. But growing up it grew on me. I looked at the uniqueness of my name as a bad thing. I can see more that it's something I should enjoy, and not take for granted.I like that when my name is called, a million heads don’t turn, only mine does.
There have been times where I wanted nothing more than to change it. I mean I actually begged my mom to let me legally change it when I was nine. Ridiculous, right? But through time my name has grown on me. It went from something I hated to something that is just me. It's not a bother but I don't love it. It's a part of me that's just kind of there. I guess my names not so bad after all.
I remember being out on the playground in the first grade when I was asked. There was this thing, or group, that every girl in the first grade dreamed of being in. It was called the “popular girls club”. I wanted nothing more than to be a part of it, so when they asked, I was more than excited.
I guess you can say that in cases like this, you see what you want to see. Everyone saw the popular girls club as a bunch of nice popular girls who they desired to be friends with. Once I was invited in, I saw the club for what it was. A bunch of mean girls who thought they were better than everyone else. They were mean to other girls and they were bullies. I just sat there thinking, what would happen if i left? Would I become one of those girls they bullied? So I stayed in the club.
There was this one girl I remember so vividly. A girl being that was bullied by the club. She went to the office that day after recess and told the principle what had happened. I remember feeling somewhat betrayed, angry. I didn’t want to get in trouble, I didn’t want to take responsibility. Afterall I didn't personally take part in the bullying, I was just a bystander to it.
The thing about bystanding is, it’s even worse. Something horrible is happening right in front of your eyes, and you’re just standing there, watching, letting it happen. I was ashamed in myself. How could I just watch? Regret sucks and that’s all I felt. This experience, or whatever you want to call it, affected me. It affected me in a way I never thought it would. It stayed with me, It’s still with me today.
It was sort of a wake up call in a way. I was mad at myself after. I just stood there. I didn’t take action or do the right thing despite knowing I should have. I was so young when this happened. I think that because it happened so early on, I had a lot more time to learn from it, and i’m glad I did. It taught me right from wrong and now I know that being a bystander is in no way at all better than being a bully, If anything it’s much worse.