No One Here

That’s the thing about this city, no one really cares about us.

Being a 14-year-old in New York City means being stepped over, passed by, and stared at whenever you’re alone. It means that no one notices you for your personality, everyone notices, if that even happens, you, without knowing or understanding that you are a minor, for your looks.

I am in no way good-looking or anything of the sort, but that doesn’t stop the people in New York. I’ve moved all over the place, but still, the same men always manage to find me and my brother.

They treat him the same way, but it’s older girls rather than old men. I’m not into the whole “dating your family” thing, but my brother is quite attractive. Every girl in the schools I’ve gone to has tried to make friends with me to get with my twin brother. I’ve had seniors send me answers to the entrance exams in A.P. classes, even promising me the rest of the answers just to get with my freshman brother.

All this place cares about is the money and the pretty.

I don’t think that the school would notice if we left, I mean, no one really does except the teachers, but with our track record of this sort, they probably wouldn’t think it unusual. The only ones that ever notice are the ones with bad intentions.

But I notice the others. I notice everything about everyone. I can tell if they’re having a hard time, I can tell if they’re happy, I can tell if someone just got back from the hospital to see a loved one for the last time.

I see it all. I can feel their problems. I hate to say it, but I even know what you are going through. But no one notices me.

“Kirsty Orland, please report to the front office.”

I’m moving again.

No one even bats an eye, I can tell. They won’t even notice that I don’t come back. The ones who do will just use my absence as a way to tell other people about a fake fight that allegedly caused me to get expelled.

I’ve been away from my real home for eight years, and I remember every last bit of it. I have an interesting way of understanding time and people.

Having a life is already difficult enough, but no one noticing it makes it about a thousand times harder.

“Kirsty Orland, please report to the front office.”

It’s only been a day. I don’t think I’m moving again, but knowing my parents, it could be anything.

I sit down in the guidance office. The woman, whose name is Jenn Lione, gives me a bottle of water. I refuse.

Over a few years, I’ve learned to not trust anyone, not even the people who you’ve known for years.

She just wants me to trust her for no valid reason.

I don’t really trust a bunch of people.

Sometimes I trust the doctors, or maybe even the good cops.

There aren’t many of those.

I just want some friends.

Someone to trust.

Someone who’ll tell me that it’ll be okay.

Someone to convince me that life is good.

Someone who’ll be there for me.

There’s still no one like that for me.

There never will be, and I guess that’s okay. I need to depend on myself so I don’t suffer later. I don’t want my life to be changed without my permission.

I don’t think that people understand me, and not to be one of those people, but I’m different from everyone else.

I have no way to figure out who I am.

I don’t know who I am, I don’t know who I’ll like, I don’t know what my gender is, and I won’t ever, and that’s all my fault.

I just wish I could be normal.

I know I’m normal inside, but I don’t feel like it.

I just want to be able to breathe without watching my back.

I want to speak without worrying about who’ll judge my opinions.

But I’ll never understand myself.

Am I really a good person? Well, I’ll never know because I’ve never gotten more than 2 weeks to talk to someone. Do I have any friends? I don’t know, maybe that’s because I’ve never been around long enough to hear that someone called me their friend. And I’m okay with the fact that I never will.

The places I might be in tomorrow could be anywhere in New York.

The next time I move could be tomorrow or in two weeks, I don’t know.

There are reasons why I don’t trust people.

I’ve decided what I’m going to do.

I’ll be me. I’ll just go where I want to go. I’ll do what I want to do without worrying who will think what about me. No problem with me.

Everyone thinks the same way.

“What if people don’t like me?”

“What if people don’t think I’m cool?”

“What if no one cares about it?”

But I don’t worry about that anymore. Neither you nor I should ever. We still shouldn’t have to think about what people think, we are all ourselves, not others. Don’t change yourself for others. Be who you want to be. You are never going to be on your own. You will find someone.

But it’s okay if you think that no one is there, because deep down, you love yourself. Deep down, you care. Others don’t have to give you approval. You don’t even have to know it all.

Because that’s the thing about this city, and maybe even your. Definitely even yours. No one, not even myself, will ever understand. You won’t always understand, and that’s always going to be okay.

You are important.

And even if no one else seems to understand that, you should just remember that you are always going to be good enough.

Don’t be good enough for the sake of others. Be good enough for you. That’s what counts.