The Hopeless Generation

On the rare occasions I venture out of the house for a night out with my friends (not that I am anti-social, I just don't like going out at night that much), it's hard not to notice all the other people that also decided that night was a good night to go out. We find ourselves usually in cramped bars or clubs permanently impregnated with an intense smell of cigarettes, where the music is loud, the people are louder and usually under the influence of something, either alcohol or something else. And it never ceases to amaze me, although not it a positive manner, the way my generation behaves these days. 

I belong to the Generation Y, the 90's Kids. We were brought up hearing how the world is full of possibilities, how we can be anything we want to be. The world is your oyster! Our childhoods were filled with fairy tales and wishful thinking.

But now we are all grown up, we realize all those promises were empty and there is almost nothing left for us to take. It turns out the world it's not an oyster, but an empty shell. My generation will have to work a million times harder to archive half the things our parents did, and even there it will not be enough. We'll be permanently plagued by thoughts of unworthiness; ... We, the hopeful kids, have grown into hopeless adults.

So it should be of no surprise to hear that all my friends' stories of great nights out begin when they are sufficiently intoxicated not to feel anything. That my generation needs the alcohol and drugs to have fun. We, the hopeful and full of hope kids, are exhausted, mentally exhausted, to the point of needing not to feel anything to feel something else. And it saddens me profoundly to see the point we are now. 

I like to believe that, amidst all darkness, there's still hope. Nothing has to - or can, really - be set in stone, but as long as we keep voicing our dreams, there's hope for a better future.  

Andie

Fog | Andie Maars | Exclusively on Blogger

Broken Angel

A second choice. That’s what I feel I am; a second choice. A person everybody calls last, because it’s mostly sure I’ll pick up and I’ll be available for whatever the reason you called. I don’t really know how to explain this feeling, it’s like I've ‘Easy’ written on my forehead; am I that easy? I truly want to know, am I?  It’s like I don’t even deserve a chance to try and be myself because everybody expects me to be someone else, a replacement of someone else; a second choice. So I live with the constant reminder that I was never good enough, that I’m never good enough to be just myself.

And that’s all I ask for, a chance, an opportunity to be myself and nobody else. And it shouldn't be too much to ask, at all. But I still see all the astonished faces every single time I try, pushing me down to the oblivion, hoping I’ll forget it or get too tired to try again. But I still rise, again, every time they try to push me down, most of the times without any help; because I’m not expected to need that help. I’m expected to be quiet and perfect like a little doll; flawless.

And even though I know it’s not my fault they think like that, I still try to impress them…all to no avail.

But I’m not flawless; I actually stand far from that. I can feel my soul covered with ugly scars life gave me for trying to please everybody, but I can’t help it. I can’t help trying to help others  become better even if that implies I’ll be hurting, even if that implies not getting anything nice in return from them, not a ‘thank you’, not a hand shake, not even a smile; all I’m worth of are sympathetic lies, punches in the heart and stabs in the soul. But I stitch my soul, dry my tears and in the next day I’m there again, against all odds, ready for another round.

So you can say that I’m easy, the amount of times you want to; but don’t you dare say I’m not strong.

Dark Velvet | by Andie Maars | original on DeviantArt

~Andie

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You should listen to Broken Angel by Boyce Avenue while you read this… [link]