The scar

Ever since I quit my job, which was not even a week ago, I have been marathoning “My so-called life” yet again. Needless to say I was immediately transported to a parallel universe where emotions are very real and intense.

I remember watching Angela fall for the emotionally confused and not-that-bright (yet perfect) Jordan Catalano when I was 13 years old and having my life revolve around the live versions of that character I found along the way.

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Long pause after visual effect.

I remember vividly new year’s eve 1995 as I wore my pink skirt and wished myself a happy new year since I was sure that’d be the year I’d have my very first kiss. I was happy… excited and hopeful. I was a teenager with typical teenage girl dreams.

yeah, I was an idiot.

At one point I stopped wishing my Jordan Catalano on new year’s eve. Apparently, I wasn’t Angela Chase after all and my story would be different.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a romantic (That’s what my best friend has been telling me forever at least) but I did wish for it for years. It’s the power of the movies in your head.

When wait was really hurting I did what every reasonable emotional young adult would do: I got a tattoo to remind me of how much that moment hurt.

The tattoo was a scar with stitches and a little button shaped like a heart attached to it.

I vowed that I would never take those years for granted or forget about how much it hurt to wait for true love.

I know, it’s not world poverty or a terrible disease… but being loved mattered to me, for as shallow as it might sound compared to the terrible, terrible things we see every day on the news.

The tattoo came out ridiculous. The guy just couldn’t…anything. He should have been a janitor judging by his ability to draw. But it was there. That terrible thing on my arm.

Being life this ironic little thing, when we moved to Canada I had to get the tattoo surgically removed, for it was too visible for certain jobs and the result was a scar. A real one. Like the one I have inside.

Now, my husband asks me if I ever regret getting that ugly tattoo I had to remove and if I’m sorry I ended up with this huge scar on my right arm.

I always tell him that actually no, am not. I love it. It’s a big part of me. If it wasn’t for the scar, I’d be a different person and maybe he wouldn’t even love me.

I miss being young

I was watching that documentary about Jared Leto’s band and I realized something: I really miss being young. I’ve been in love with a fan of Jared since he played Jordan Catalano on My So-called life. That TV show was so powerful and inspiring to me in so many ways I could talk about it forever.

Every character had this inner battle, specially Jared’s. And, every time he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall it was like there were a million things going through his had and he was carrying this huge load he just couldn’t talk about because nobody would understand… or maybe he just couldn’t express it in words. So, all we got from him were these simple 2 or 3 words sentences. He wasn’t from this superficial world. To get into his mind you’d have to go deeper. Nobody could have played it better than a future oscar winner.

To me, as a teenager, it was kinda like that. Every little thing about the world was so intense. I was this weird, complicated kid who was afraid of brushing her hair because it could reveal some disease – I got that from watching movies I was NOT old enough to watch with my mom -. But that’s just who I was… at least that’s what I felt like. A little Jordan Catalano, who could read.

When I was 15 one of our teachers asked us to write a text about a book. The book wasn’t poetic at all, but my review was. She said that there was a poet inside me, longing to come out and show himself to the world. I felt like I could do anything when she said that in front of the whole class. I felt artistic and filled with all these feelings… I’ll never forget her.

But I grew up. I’m a mom in my mid 30’s. That pretty much means I’m not allowed to die my hair blue ’cause I feel like I don’t belong. I’m not allowed to wear cool clothes ’cause I’m not Brad Pitt and people probably won’t hire me if I show up dressing the way I did back when my so-called life was still on. I have a pattern to follow… it’s the responsible thing to do and the kids gotta eat.

Which brings us back to jared…

He still closes his eyes in the middle of a sentence and you can tell he’s really emotional about what he’s saying. I wish I could do that.

It’s so cool that when you’re an artist you get a poetic license to express yourself even when you’re older. Steven Tyler does it very well too. And I think us, normal people totally deserve that. I mean, I miss it. I should not miss it. I should be able to be me and experience every intense feeling of the world instead of surviving every day worrying about finding a job or the bills I gotta pay.

Yes, there’s people suffering in Africa and even back home, right next to me and my complaints are shallow. I’m sorry. Blame it on the poet inside, who just wishes to feel, instead of just getting by.

Good night, guys. And please, no spoilers on my amost-10-years-old documentary. The babies only allow me to watch like 10 mintutes a day. It’ll take me a while!