I am extremely bad at cooking. Have I said that before? Well, if you would meet me, you would have easily figured it out. It is one of those things that marks me. If you ask my friends they have tons of stories they gladly share with strangers. Like the time I started a fire in the microwave while doing popcorns in it. Wasn't my fault. Actually, I blame my mom for that one.
But yes, I am extremely bad at cooking either way. I can stand for that. The only thing I know how to cook is noodles, and I am also GREAT at heating up left-overs in the microwave (but not popcorn, apparently). It's good I love noodles, and that my mom always leaves left-overs for me in the fridge, otherwise I would hade starved long ago. My friends always say to me that I need to find a boyfriend/girlfriend before I move away from my parents, for that particular reason. I guess I can't avoid that. My ex (The Douchebag) actually wanted to teach me how to cook when we went out. I told my friends this, and they laughed and asked if he knew me at all. So to wrap it up: I suck at cooking.
But that wasn't where I was going with this. I were going to talk about the thing I have gained a lot of thought today. The thing with recipes on people.
Yes, that sounded weird. I didn't mean it that way, I promise. It's just these things you see everywhere on the internet (or if it's just me that have spent WAY too much time on the internet). People make a recipe on theirselves. They be like:
1 romantic heart
1000 kg books
a healthy amount of One Direction obsession
Mix it all up in a bottle, swirl a few time, shake and then there you have me!
So, what I am trying to explain is that they describe theirselves as ingredients. What their minds/souls/thoughts contains of. What marks them. I thought it seemed funny in the beginning, the first time I tripped over the idea. It was a long time ago, and it was in some sort of magazine. But then I started to experiment with it in my thoughts, just play around with it. And suddenly it seemed so complicated, like the world's most advanced calculator. I kept wondering what is me, WHAT IS ME, who am I really? On what deep was it supposed to be. Through which angle? Because every living person have different personalities. Or maybe it's the same, but it can behave very differently in different kinds of situations. With different kinds of people. I am not precisely the same when I am with my friends as when I am with my grandparents. If I should divide it up more clearly, there are School me, Friend me, Classmate me, Crushing me, In Town me, On a social event me, On a party me, WIth a stranger me, Daughter me, Granddaughter me, With adults me and Alone me. And these have not the same language, the same humor, the same behavior, the same talking subjects, the same qualifies. With my friends I am very relaxed, swear a lot and make stupid decisions, talk about everything from Earth to Heaven, be sassy on everyone, be weird. When I am with someone I have a crush on, I laugh a lot, flirt a lot, tease a little. When I am with my grandparents I am sofisticated, a modern girl with a lot of friends and top school results because I have a desire to make them proud. And the alone me? A thinking person. An emotional person. A lazy person. A crying person. When you are just you there are no one there to hide anything from. You can do what you want without being afraid of judgements. You can be open and true and it can be how so dumb or weird or just very private. No one cares.
This wasn't were I was going either. The thing is, I wanted to try to make said recipe. I wanted to define myself. Just as an experiment. Maybe it's easier than I have been thinking it is. Maybe it's impossible. Well, what else should I spend my evening doing? I don't have a very interesting life. I got to give it a try at least. Let's start!
THIS IS ME
1 book. (Not any special one, just a book. Because I have read so many of them, and I have found each one an experience. Every book showes me something or learns me something, or affects me. It depends, but it happens always. 1 book is enough for a lot. Sometimes even a word is fine. They say so much. It is like the saying "It isn't the amount of years in your life that matters, it is the amount of life in your years." The same thing with books. Words. Messages).
1 notebook with a sloppy handwriting filling each page. (And in that you will find what I think. Some are strong opinions, some are a little reminder, some short stories. Some a vision of life. And all of it is mine. They are what I believe in. What I live for.
1 brain that have worked to its limits. One brain that are impossible to understand. (That is everything I haven't written down. Maybe it's not that important, but it shows what happens under the surface, a reality just as real as the one above it.)
1 kg of chocolate and the echo of a laugh. (The social me. The one that is always laughing and talking and eating chocolate. It's a happy me. The one who is most active and alive. The one that my surroundings see.)
A scream out of frustration, out of fear, out of anxiety, out of anger, out of sadness and there it crackles at the end and turns into tears. (It's the broken me. The one that only exists when I am completely alone, and are most alive and well at night time. It is the one that can't handle it anymore and wants to die. It is the one that throws things, that pick up a knife or just curl into a ball and turns off the thinking ability, escape from life and into a darkness.
1 heart that pounds harder and for more reasons than anyone could have ever imagined. (It's all the types of pure love, it's all the beauty in my body and it's all the smiles).
A word: FUTURE. (It is the goal, it is the point of it all. It is all the hope and it is all the pressure. It is looked at negatively and positively. But in the end it is not known. It is something that are secret.)
And that was all of it. I wanted to add a lipstick to mark my style and everything fake, to mark the surface itself, but it isn't me for one bit. It felt very complete too. Intimidating. It reached me on some level. Hell, on ALL the levels. i feel like I am done. And I am not sure how to think of this now, How to understand it. That part feels so beyond. The most important thing now is that I am on a paper. The recipe for me. So, you know, mix it all together and swirl it. Then you have me. Some other time I will figure it out. Now I am so tired.
Goodbye, recipe me and everyone else, for today.
<3 (this felt necessary).