They say that there are six people in the world that look exactly like you.
I wonder what they're all doing. Just because they look like you doesn't mean that they have the same personality or grew up in the same enviornment. Clones in looks, but not in substance.
Maybe one's a herion addict, slumped against a slimy building on the streets of Paris. She mumbles a lullaby her mother taught her in some other life, her small voice disappearing in the cold, static night.
Another could be a little rich girl, living in the lap of luxury in England. She's surrounded by beauty and is naive to the ugliness of the world. And that first time she experiences the real world, and its tragic shortcomings, perhaps she won't be able to cope.
Maybe another is am artsy girl, living in Chicago. She writes zines and follows the tune of her own drum, winking behind cat-eye glasses.
Another, a hardcore ghetto girl, raised from the streets and committed to survival. She only hears the beat of a primal, animalistic drum.
Still another perhaps grows up in Southern Italy, in a small village surrounded by close friends and closer family. She's poor, but doesn't know the difference between wealth and poverty. All that matters is the love that surrounds her.
The last? A thirty-something living in Australia, studying the Aboriginal culture. She knows her goals, where she was, and where's she going. Her perserverence exceeds all the others.
And then there's me. Sixteen, almost seventeen, living in New York. Trying to find herself, to cope with the cliched "teen angst," and to ultimately find happiness. She's content, but not content enough. A worrywort, she's always looking, searching, curiousity sketched on her face.
I wonder, where will she be in 10 years?
