Perfect Place December 29, 2009

Perfect Place

If you ask someone to describe his/her favorite place you will probably receive a description of a beach or vacation spot of some sort, but my favorite place is probably not a place many people would describe.  My favorite place in the world is the top of a hill.  To an outsider, it would appear to be just your average hill, but to me it has always been much more.

I breathe in the taste of the fresh country air.  The ever-vibrant sun dries the water droplets off of my perfectly naturally tanned skin.  I sit on the bright green grass and stare out at a world of beauty.  I am sitting so far up that it feels like the whole world below me can fit into the palm of my hand.  When I look straight out I can see the small farm across the dirt road below.  The bright red barn, the little brown house, the large amounts of cows, and the numerous dirt bike trails lay before me.  The blades of grass are a perfect shade of green and the few visible trees stand straight as can be reaching for the heavens above.  The view is always magnificent no matter the time, season, or year.

In a world of constant change, this hill is one thing I can always count on to be there.  The surrounding land changes with time as more and more things are added, improved, and just plain updated over the years, but my favorite little hill always remains untouched.

It is not so much that I mind change as it is that I hate letting go.  As you grow up, you learn to let go of things you never thought you would have to.  You let go of old friendships that you come to understand were never really healthy; you let go of hobbies that you come to realize you were never really good at; you let go of so many things that formed your personality, your character, and your life.  I know that this is a part of life.  I am aware that this is how it works.  Yet, I cannot say that I do not sometimes miss my old, unhealthy friendships or that I do not yearn to somehow make time in my busy life to pick back up my old and very unsuccessful hobbies.

I know that change is healthy and so I am not resistant to it.  Over the years, I have come to see that just because you are not ready for things to change does not mean that they won’t.  If you try your best to just stand still, you are just going to get run over.  The fact of the matter is that whether you like it or not, with time, people are going to change, most places are going to change, and your life is going to change, but having that one thing that stays the same can make all the difference in the world.

Sometimes, it is just nice to have that one constant in my life.  Sometimes, I just love to know that no matter how bad of a day I am having and no matter how I am feeling my precious hill will be there to welcome me and provide me with a place that never hates, that never judges, that never changes.

Drastic Differences December 27, 2009

Drastic Differences

She looks up me up and down as I stand in her doorway.  I stand there before her with my long hair in curls and my makeup perfectly done.  I am wearing my dressy hot pink shirt, a pair of dark colored jeans, and a pair of bright pink high-heeled shoes.  My oversized bright colored bag is slung over my right shoulder.  “Hi!  I’m Mimoza!”  I announce in attempt to break the awkward silence and interrupt her obviously irritated glare.  I try my best not to look her over for I absolutely despise seeing girls do the same to me in school.  The feeling of being judged followed by the feeling that you failed the test is one of the worst feelings any girl can experience.  Therefore, I focus my eyes on her face.  She has very short black hair, is wearing a very dark black and heavy coat of eye-liner and eye shadow, and is greeting me with an exceptionally angered facial expression.  I can definitely tell that the last thing this girl wants to do is to let me into her house.  I put on the best smile I can manage and brush off the nervous feeling I am sure she can see reflecting in my eyes.  I choose my next words with care, “I am here to help you with your math homework.”  I try to state this statement without any hesitations or uncertainties.

“I don’t need help.  I have told my mom a thousand times that I do not need a tutor.”  She talks slowly and I know she is attempting to scare me away with her voice.  She stares me down and I just stare back at her to let her know I am not backing down anytime soon.

“Kallima, let Mimoza in and get started on that homework!” I hear her mother shout from upstairs.  Kallima scowls at her mother’s command, but does as she says and opens the door all the way and walks over to the dining room table where her math homework is sprawled out everywhere.  She takes a seat at the table without saying a word and I enter the house, shut the door behind me and proceed to pull out the chair next to her and sit down as well.  I can tell this is going to be a challenge.  Tutoring is rarely easy on the first day, but usually by the next session progress is able to be made.  At this point, I am just hoping that someday I will eventually be able to make progress with Kallima.  I have my doubts about her, but that does not mean I am not going to try my best.

Just by looking at us, it is obvious we are total opposites, but I know the key to be a successful tutor is to connect with the one being tutored.  I take a look at the book and see she is working on the quadratic formula.  Before starting on the math homework I ask her a few questions about herself.  I start the session by asking, “What sorts of things do you like to do?”

She hesitates for a second and I can tell I have caught her off guard with my question.  She clearly does not expect me to have any interest in her hobbies.  I half expect her to not respond, but finally she replies, “I like to sing.”  The fact that she answered is a good sign.  I spend the first ten minutes of the session asking about her life, her week, and so on.  I never begin a session without taking the first ten minutes of the session to discuss how the person’s week is going and how they are feeling as a way to break the ice and clear the air.  It is a trick I have picked up from years of tutoring and it has yet to fail in establishing a relationship with someone and in setting a positive tone for the rest of the session.  I ask a good number of questions to get to know her better before turning my attention to the mass of math papers, books and calculators before me.

“What is most difficult about solving these types of problems?” I ask her hoping she is going to continue to answer.

“The formula is too long.”  She responds.

“Well, earlier you mentioned that you like to sing.”  I remind her using this information to my advantage.

“So?”  She looks at me skeptically.

“So, let’s put the quadratic formula to a song.”  She looks at me like I am crazy.  I push on, “Name a song that you like.”

“The theme song to The Simpsons.”  She spits out at me with a little hesitation.

“Perfect.”  I reply back.  I begin to sing the quadratic formula to the tune from The Simpsons.  Her face softens and I even catch the glimpse of a shy smirk.  That’s all I need.  I know I am in.  I get her to join me in singing the new song and slowly our differences begin to fade away.

Sentimental Star December 23, 2009

Sentimental Star

As I stand under one of the biggest Christmas trees I have ever seen, I watch as the snowflakes fall covering the ground faster than the workers can shovel and I listen as the song, “Christmas Cannon,” by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra plays from overhead. The lights from the tree are big and vibrant and shed a romantic light onto the square. The scene is absolutely breathtaking and I feel like I am in a snow globe. The shoppers rush by with their abundance of bags completely ignorant to the beauty of it all. I, on the other hand, am very much aware. I believe that nature is the most beautiful thing in the world and I cannot help but to take the time to admire it. I find it simply amazing that the sky can open itself up and leak out huge, white snowflakes to cover the ground like a blanket of diamonds. I am in love with the way the snow glistens in the night and brings some light to the dead of winter. I am in love with the way it highlights the tree branches and accentuates your eyelashes. I stand looking over every inch of the tree of perfection in desperate hope that some of it will rub off on my life. As I continue to look over every little perfection, I realize that the gold studded star tilts just a little to the right. Finally, there it is, an imperfection. It is an imperfection, but the more I look at it, the more I love the way it tilts just a little like it is falling from the top of the tree. Although I recognize that perfection is great, at this very moment it is the imperfection I love more. I smile to myself as I turn and walk away completely content with my life and all the little imperfections that are a part of it.

Best Buds December 22, 2009

Best Buds

I was just five years old when I met her.  She had long, wavy brown hair that fell down past her shoulders.  It was the kind of hair any girl would be lucky to have.  She also wore a pair of glasses, which rested lightly upon her nose.  Most people would call them geeky, but I thought they were wonderful.  Unfortunately, my hair would never grow that long and my eyesight was nearly perfect.  At the age of five, I thought long hair and glasses made you look beautiful and more mature.  I cannot remember many other details, for in Kindergarten I had no idea the girl sitting across the room from me would one day become my best friend.

I gently shut my eyes for a brief second and take a few deep breaths before I enter the classroom.  As I step through the door the tension greets me like a slap to the face.  I walk as quickly as I can to my seat at my usual computer hoping that nobody is watching me as I move.  I have always told myself that most people are too busy worrying about themselves and their own lives to pay much attention to anyone else, but that does not mean the idea that someone may be watching, judging, hating, does not creep its way into my mind every now and then.

It is my fifth period class of my freshman year.  I used to love this class.  There was a time when it was the class I looked most forward to.  When that changed, I am not really sure.  It is almost as if it happened over night.  Now, I dread walking through the door each day.  The tension can be felt by anyone who crosses that threshold.  My heart never fails to race in my chest for the duration of the class.

I quickly shuffle through the folder labeled “Newspaper” and pull out the article my partner and I have written for that week.  It is due today and although I have noticed that the due dates are pretty flexible, I never turn anything in late.  This week’s article is not about anything exciting.  In fact, I did not want to write on the topic we were assigned by my teacher at all.  My ideal article would be an editorial.  This is just a news article written about an event that occurs every month at our school.  I never complain about being assigned to write it each month because I have always been taught that you never complain to a person of authority.  I try my best to make the article sound exciting and unique, but it tends to get repetitive and old having to write about it month after month.

My partner and I walk over to our editor-in-chief and hand her the article we spent hours working on.  I watch as she glances at the neatly stapled sheets of paper and scowls.  “This is a terrible topic,” she states before reading more than just the title itself.  I am caught off-guard as this is not the reaction I am expecting at all.  She then proceeds to rip the article up and throw it onto the floor.  I stand in shock as I see her place her foot on top of the torn-up pieces and move it back and forth as though she is putting out a cigarette.  As she squashes my article, she squashes my dreams.

I have no idea what to say or what to do, so I just walk back to my seat and once again hope to blend into the room.  My partner says nothing.  We just sit next to each other in complete silence.  I must have spaced out for a while because before I know it the bell rings to signal the class has ended.

I exit through the door and feel a rush of relief wash over me.  I walk to my next class trying to shake off what has just happened, but I find it to be difficult.  Within minutes I am walking through the door of the next classroom and heading straight towards the desk of my best friend.  “Hey!  How was Newspaper today?” Kianga asks cheerily as I walk over.  I stand in front of her desk and feel my face fall.  I startle her as I just burst into tears.

She rushes me to the bathroom and goes to grab me some paper towels.  Of course there aren’t any left and I cannot help but smile as I watch her rush in and out of the stalls attempting to gather up enough toilet paper to dry my tears.  I cannot be more thankful that it is Kianga that is here with me for this embarrassing breakdown.  Although I am only fourteen years old, I know at this exact moment that she is going to be my best friend forever.

Farewell, Fractured Friendship December 20, 2009

Farewell, Fractured Friendship

Someone once told me that our relationships are like trees.  Our families are the roots, we are the trunks, and our friends are the leaves.  Therefore, our friends change with the seasons: Most only stay around for a short while, but every once in a while you meet someone special who lasts much longer; someone who evolves into a branch. Naoko was a branch.

Of course, with time, branches break.  Perhaps as a trunk, I was not sturdy enough to support the branch or perhaps the branch just died with time.  I suppose I may never know exactly what broke the bond, but really, that does not even matter.  I have never really believed that trees could feel pain, but I felt pain.  I guess this is one of the distinguishing factors between a fragile human being and a big, strong tree.  At this point I would almost rather be the tree.

Yet, after the initial sadness and anger that accompanied the break, I am left with nothing but contentment.  He has been my friend for a while, and perhaps it was time for a change.  After all, we have both changed over the years.  I do not believe I even know who he is anymore.  All I know is that I cannot handle any more of the pain and so I believe this change is for the best.  Although he has shown me in more ways than one that he is not the same guy I once considered to be my best friend, I do believe that somewhere inside of him, part of what I once came to love about him is still there and I do hope that someday he can find that again.

I believe that one day he can be very successful and happy too, if he allows his mind to rest a while and just follows his heart.  I thank him for the good times that made me hold on as long as I did and I thank him for the times he made me believe I was someone special.  I wish him every bit of happiness and may he create many branches of his own in the upcoming years.

Luckily, leaves are forever changing and until the tree dies, branches will continue to evolve and therefore I know that maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday, everything will be okay.

Broken Baskets

Broken Baskets

I have heard it said that you should not put all your eggs in one basket for things are sure to go awry, but when you are fifteen you do not think twice about what could possibly happen to your precious eggs.  I began to pile egg after egg into the first basket I found.  I piled every last egg I had into that one basket.  I naively had all the hope in the world and not a single doubt that the basket would hold up strong.  However, the basket let me down; failed me in a way.  My eggs did not survive the fall and no matter how hard you try, you cannot put an egg back together.  Sure, I can change them, transform them into something else, but they will never, ever be the same.

When the leaves turn from green to crimson and gold, I am reminded of him.  When I see a spinning tire swing, I am reminded of him.  When I watch the movie Aladdin, when I have trouble with my computer, when I have a rough day at work, when I play the piano, when I trip on my way to class; I am reminded of him.  And, I hate it.

I am currently just shy of twenty-one years old.  Therefore, I have known Naoko for six years now.  I have told him everything there is to know about me.  I have shared so much with him.  I have connected with him in a way I almost feel I could never connect with anyone else.  How can you undo six years of some variety of love?  How can you undo six years of pain?

We never really had an official relationship: we never even kissed, and yet I feel we went through the same emotional process that people in relationships go through.  It started as a crush and then it progressed into a good friendship, transformed into a friendship bordering something more, converted to a love/hate relationship, twisted into a just plain hate relationship, and finally it came to rest at a friendship once again.  We cycled through these stages until in the end we just ended up being really nothing at all.

Naoko is a guy full of contradictions.  He would say he did not want to date me, but then he would ask me to go get dinner with him, and he would pay.  He would talk about things like possibly kissing me, but he would never follow through.  He would imply one thing, but do another.  This series of contradictions forced me to learn to translate for him.  For instance, when I made a statement about him not liking me and he stated, “That may not be true anymore,” what he really meant was, “It’s not that I suddenly like you, it’s just that I want to keep you around as my backup in case I am not able to get anyone better”.

He tore me apart.  The little comments he made; they killed me.  “Nobody likes me.  At least, nobody good”, “I like girls who are skinnier”, “I like girls with darker hair”, and so on.  I just felt I was never good enough.  He knew I liked him from day one.  It is actually the reason we ever started talking in the first place.  I feel like it would be common sense that you should never reveal to a girl who likes you all of the qualities you look for in a girlfriend that she just happens to be lacking.  I feel like this would be common sense, but I could be wrong.  In fact, I truly do not believe that Naoko realized how terrible a lot of his comments were.  Although, I will admit that not all of the comments were direct attacks, they hurt all the same.  To be honest, I cannot deny that in my mind, a majority of what I have heard for the past six years is, “Maybe someday, but not today”.

It has taken me six years to realize he completely tore me apart and he completely demolished my self-esteem.  He got me to believe I was “not good enough” and I needed to change.  He convinced me I was “crazy” when I got upset about the hurtful comments he made.  He got me to believe that I would rather hear his “brutal truths” than some white lies.  He verbally and emotionally abused me for years and the worst part is that I allowed him to do it.  Now, I am sure your next thought is “Why would she let him do that?”  Well, this answer is simple.  The reason is the same reason any girl allows any guy to hurt her time and time again.  The answer: SOMETIMES, things are good.

It would be wrong and completely unfair for me to tell you every negative aspect of Naoko without mentioning some of his positive qualities.  I would never deny that he did have some positive qualities.  For instance, one day I was having a horrible day.  I had just broken up with my boyfriend and I found myself sitting at a lunch table alone.  He left his group of friends to sit with me, just so I would not have to eat alone.  Another time, I was caught up in a lot of family issues and I was just sobbing in my room when he offered to help me take my mind off of things by making me a pancake breakfast the next morning.  It was things like those that caused me to like him.  Those were the good times.  The problem is that other 90% of the time.  The part of the time many of us choose not to focus on.  The part of the time we somehow forget.

Sometimes, I tell myself things can go back the way they once were.  We can put all the pain and heartache behind us.  Sometimes, I want nothing more than to forget the bad times once again and forgive him for the thousandth time, but then I remember what he said to me.  The single most painful sentence I have ever heard.  The one sentence that continuously runs through my mind that will not allow us to go back to the way we were.  It is the one sentence that allowed me to finally get over him.  Imagine hearing the guy you have loved, in some way, for years say to you, “If it ever seems like I am interested in you, it just means I am getting desperate”.  Imagine how you would feel.  I have never felt so hurt before in my life.  It verifies the concept of being the “backup”.  It reiterates the fact that I mean close to nothing to him.  It proves that the guy I once considered to be one of my best friends was never a friend at all.

It’s funny how one non-existent relationship can impact the rest of your life.  Naoko and I have been at the “nothing at all” stage for quite some time now and I can honestly say that although a part of me will always care for him in some way, I am no longer in any stage of love with him.  Yet, he impacts every new relationship I enter.  I can no longer pile all my eggs into one basket.  In fact, I feel reluctant to pile even one into a basket, no matter how promising it seems.  There was a time when I was the most open book you would ever meet.  There was a time when I would tell you anything you wanted know.  Now, I do my best to protect myself.  I have read poems about people building up walls after being hurt so badly that they fear ever being hurt again.  I never truly understood this concept, until now.

These walls keep me from making emotional investments out of fear.  They make me feel like I am safe, like I can never be hurt again.  Yet, I know that if I do not take the steps necessary to break these walls back down I will never be happy and what’s more is I will never experience “true love”.  I will never know what it is like to really be “in love” (which I define as to love someone and be loved in return).  These walls of protection are really more harmful than beneficial and although I understand that people’s ways of thinking change over time, I never want to let go of the part of me that is an avid dreamer ever hopeful about the world and what it has to offer.  I never want to lose hope that somewhere out there is a basket that will not break.

True Troubles December 18, 2009

True Troubles

I sit in my quiet room on my stiff, old mattress and I strain to listen to the gentle voice I know so well.  Seeping through the vent on the floor of my room are the sobs, the sobs that will always be in the back of my mind from here on out.  I shift restlessly around on my bed as I listen to the words I wish were never said.   Down the long, dark, unwelcoming hallway, I hear a sound that echoes the one from beneath the floor.  Cries bounce around from all directions and I feel trapped.

Give in, they say.  It’s okay.  Yet I hold my tears back.  I listen to the beautiful voice of my mother as I watch my perfect life sail away and disappear in the distance.  Suddenly I feel dizzy and the room begins to spin, but still I do not give in.  I listen to my mother talk on the phone downstairs and I can hear her ask questions I know will never be answered.

“Why?” I hear her squeeze out through unstoppable tears, “Why does it have to be my son?  His life has only just begun.”  She pauses and I hold my breath.  “If there is a god, why would he do this to us?  It has been ten years and it seems the more I pray the worse he gets.”

It is at this distinct point in my life that I first realize my mother has lost all faith in the god she once believed in.  I know she thinks I am too young to know, but I know.  I know she cries often now when she thinks I am not listening, but I hear.  I know she drinks more now than she ever did before and she has no idea that I notice, but I do.

I force myself back into reality and direct my attention from the cries under my feet to the ones down the hall.  There my younger brother is curled up in a ball rocking back and forth.  I do not even have to see it with my eyes, for the image is ingrained in my mind.  There the vision is vibrant.  It flutters as I listen to his voice moaning like an old rocking chair that has not been used in years.

As he rocks he says, “Why does God hate me?  Why can’t I go to school like every other kid?  Why can’t I just be well for one day?”  I wish I had the answers.  I can hear my youngest brother try to comfort him, and I know I should too, but I just can’t.  I seem to have suddenly gone mute.  My throat feels swollen and rusted shut like Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz, and I just feel I am at a complete loss for words.

I remind myself to be grateful that he is not dying.  The life changing migraines will not kill him and yet I know he’s dying inside.  I try my best to put my mind at ease, and finally I get the courage from somewhere deep within to get up and talk to the boy I hardly recognize anymore.  I know he looks weak… his bones look like they are about to snap; his skin is so fair; his hair so dirty, his clothes so full of wrinkles; and his sheets so twisted.  I tell myself he needs me so I poke my head in and gradually the rest of my body follows.

The room is dark.  The blinds are down and closed air-tight.  Everything looks dusty, untouched, and old.  Slowly, I sit down next to him on the bed.  It creaks as I sink in.  I hear the words before they leave his mouth, “Why did God put me on Earth just to suffer?”  I look into his never-ending ocean blue eyes and before I know it words are pouring out through my mouth like water from a fountain.  I cannot even tell you what I am saying, all I know is he does not believe a single word of it.  He puts my words to an end like putting a stopper in a bottle when he says, “You really do love me, don’t you?”

Finally, I allow a tear to brim the edge of my eye.  “Of course, you are my brother.”  He reaches over and touches my hand.

“We will get through this.  I promise.”  He says and somehow it is at this point that I see he is right.

Shedding Stress

Shedding Stress

When the sun goes to sleep and the moon comes out to watch over the world I cannot help but to feel inspired.  When the calmness of silence is broken by nothing but the whispers of nature I cannot help but to feel passion.  When my days are long and dark and I feel overcome with emotion I look for these signs.  The signs that signify the day has ended.  It feels as though the entire world has shut its eyes and yet it is still very much awake.

The moonlight falls over me like a long and sparkling silver dress.   The branches of the tree brush against each other and the leaves begin to sing a pretty little tune.  A small white balcony with pillars that reach to the sky grows right outside my window. Three stars transform into lanterns that shed light onto the now apparent mini dance floor and I cannot resist their invitation.  I climb out the window in my moonlit dress and begin to dance to the song of the leaves.

Although my body feels heavy, I pull myself around the floor.  I dance away the day’s troubles.  I dance away the day’s pains.  I dance until I am dancing with nothing but my newly freed self.  My dress flares out and my hair unravels from its tightly wound bun.  The gentle waves fly out behind me as I spin around and around in my bare feet causing all the stress to melt away and causing myself to feel light, once again.

My Magical Moment December 17, 2009

My Magical Moment

The wind blows gently as she runs against it, brushing sweetly against her face and combing slowly yet cautiously through her newly tangled hair.  Underneath her feet she feels the smooth track, covered in old cut grass, squish between her toes.  The peaceful darkness of the night swirls around her and the endless amounts of stars captures her breath.  A single tear of joy, caused by the tiny bit of warm summer air that greets her with her every step, slides silently over her cheek and a smile spreads itself across her glowing face.  Beside her, with nothing but the moon to bring out the twinkle in his eyes, he runs as well.  She looks up into his face and melts from the feeling now beating steadily within her heart.  Suddenly, time stops.  The moment is preserved, but only for a split moment.  Desperate to make it last but feeling it draw to an end she speeds up, and then slowly begins to bring her legs to a stop.  Sensing her every move, he follows her lead.  The two stop to share a smile of perfect bliss.  Standing within inches of each other, they shift their gaze from one another’s eyes to the stars of never ending hope shining vibrantly above.  She makes a wish, as is her custom, and although a true wish is never revealed, she knows deep down it will not become real, and so she takes a breath as she closes her eyes and wishes for her perfect moment to never end.  Although she does not know it now, her wish will later become a reality, as the moment is one she will carry with her always to sometimes shine light on the darkness of love.

Like, Love, Like?

Like, Love, Like?

Have you ever felt like you are sitting at the very top of the tallest tree?  Do you know what it is like to reach that point?  You feel like at any moment you could topple over, but you surrender all faith to the wind.  You just know that the wind will catch you, and mixing you in alongside the falling red and yellow leaves, it will carefully spin you around in a mini leaf tornado, and then gently set you on the ground.  I’ve experienced that feeling.  The feeling where fear mixes with excitement and happiness and it’s almost like you can just spread your arms out wide and fly away.  I believe this is what love feels like.  However, being just eighteen I do not believe I have ever been in love.

Love is a scary word.  It means so much that I am just not sure how to use it anymore.  I say I “love” my family and I say I “love” my friends, but then I say I “love” my chocolate cake. Some say that “love” is a strong word and so they are afraid to say, “I love you” to someone they really care about, but I am not sure why.  Isn’t it possible to love someone the way you love your chocolate cake?  I “love” my best guy friend even more than chocolate cake, but perhaps I do not love him as strongly as the air I breathe.  Does this mean saying; “I love you” to him would be crossing a line?  I love him because I feel like I can share my deepest secrets with him and not be judged. I love him because I can be in a state of depression when we begin to talk and somehow just moments later I feel happy again.  Of course we have arguments and little obstacles that arise but somehow we always make it through.  I enjoy and cherish every moment we spend together, and yet I dare not say, “I love you” without making it seem like I am just talking about that silly slice of chocolate cake.

I guess in a sense, people fear love.  I know I do.  Being “in love” means putting your whole self on the line.  It means being completely open and allowing the other person to know who you really are.  At this point in my life, I am not ready to open up completely for fear of being shut down.  For this reason I tend to say I am “in like” rather than “in love.”

I used to tell my best guy friend everything.  He knew more about me than anyone.  I guess you could say I had a bit of a crush on my best friend or that I was “in like” with him.  The problem is that he was not “in like” with me.  I have known this for years, but somehow I still deny it in my mind.  I’ve built up walls all around me and I live my life in a type of fantasy world.  This is actually the first time I have put my true feelings down on paper.  Sometimes it is just easier to hide them from everyone, including myself.  Admitting that I have feelings for someone means more pain when I am told that person has none for me.  I, for one, am not ready for true pain.