Clorox has a pH level of 13, and if I want to go far in life, they tell me I have to be Clorox. I have to be sodium hypochlorite because nothing else works. I have to be strong, unforgiving, and indiscriminate. React quickly and destroy whatever is in my way. Be known for my instability. Make people’s breathing harder. They tell me, that in order to move forward, I can’t let myself be diluted. I have to keep that active ingredient safe but volatile.
So I am angry. I am stubborn and unreasonable. I forget negotiations and truces. I do not show emotion. I do not look vulnerable. My friends can leave. My family can be scared. It does not matter. I will not cry and I will not care. I turn a simple game of Taboo into the awaited apocalypse and kick the new guy out, because if he was born to reduce my winning streak to an unbeaten one, he should reconsider the purpose of his existence. This isn’t just a game, and anyone who thinks that way doesn’t deserve to play with me.
I was born to mimic gaseous weapons from old wars. Be corrosive. Create burns. They tell me. And I listen.
I listen until I realize that the amount of bleach I apply does not correlate with how clean something is. After some time, I start breaking down the fibers of even the most resistant fabrics. I destroy, as I was taught, until they stick warning labels on me. My persistence causes permanent damage, and even time can’t to heal the wounds. People try to avoid me because I am everywhere and excessive exposure to me only means wearing masks and getting rid of every trace I have left on their skin.
My ambition overcomes me and my aim for absolute perfection no longer attracts people. I give my middle school graduation valedictorian speech to a room of people who are tired of my vitriol. I force humor and quirkiness into my paragraphs and act as if I know the secret of life. Some boy calls me a demon; another says diabolical, and I get mad because I had to look up what that word meant, and I didn’t think I lived up to it.
Snuggle has pH level of 5, and I finally understand, it isn’t being sodium hypochlorite that’s challenging. Clorox does not prevail over all other detergents. Bleach can’t replace the fabric softeners. Sometimes I have to be a quaternary ammonium compound (maybe dipalmitoylethyl hydroxyethylmonium methosulfate, which I can’t pronounce well, but I know the meaning of). Sometimes I have to work with acrylate polymers, calcium chlorides, and even water because I do need my process aids and a little bit of dilution. Sometimes I have to be the softening agent – give people comfort. Prevent static cling rather than produce it. Increase resistance to stains; not try to erase history.
So I am angry. I am stubborn and unreasonable. I forget negotiations and truces. I do not show emotion. I do not look vulnerable. My friends can leave. My family can be scared. It does not matter. I will not cry and I will not care. I turn a simple game of Taboo into the awaited apocalypse and kick the new guy out, because if he was born to reduce my winning streak to an unbeaten one, he should reconsider the purpose of his existence. This isn’t just a game, and anyone who thinks that way doesn’t deserve to play with me.
I was born to mimic gaseous weapons from old wars. Be corrosive. Create burns. They tell me. And I listen.
I listen until I realize that the amount of bleach I apply does not correlate with how clean something is. After some time, I start breaking down the fibers of even the most resistant fabrics. I destroy, as I was taught, until they stick warning labels on me. My persistence causes permanent damage, and even time can’t to heal the wounds. People try to avoid me because I am everywhere and excessive exposure to me only means wearing masks and getting rid of every trace I have left on their skin.
My ambition overcomes me and my aim for absolute perfection no longer attracts people. I give my middle school graduation valedictorian speech to a room of people who are tired of my vitriol. I force humor and quirkiness into my paragraphs and act as if I know the secret of life. Some boy calls me a demon; another says diabolical, and I get mad because I had to look up what that word meant, and I didn’t think I lived up to it.
Snuggle has pH level of 5, and I finally understand, it isn’t being sodium hypochlorite that’s challenging. Clorox does not prevail over all other detergents. Bleach can’t replace the fabric softeners. Sometimes I have to be a quaternary ammonium compound (maybe dipalmitoylethyl hydroxyethylmonium methosulfate, which I can’t pronounce well, but I know the meaning of). Sometimes I have to work with acrylate polymers, calcium chlorides, and even water because I do need my process aids and a little bit of dilution. Sometimes I have to be the softening agent – give people comfort. Prevent static cling rather than produce it. Increase resistance to stains; not try to erase history.
I had to be lonely for an entire year before I realized people hugged you tighter when your jackets were soft. I trust my friends. I delegate responsibilities. I can now work in a group without assuming all the work. I am getting used to constructive criticism, and learning that I can set standards only for myself. I have become the friend who listens to stress-induced rants at two in the morning and gives sound advice and motivation. And sometimes, I feel like a mother, but I think I am getting ahead of myself there.
I may have been created to neutralize negative charges; I need to be mindful. Because people will come along and revel in the serendipity of finding me, the misplaced fabric softener, in the bleach aisle.
&&&
I am coming back and updating you guys more often after this week, don't give up on me. In the meanwhile, this is the essay I wrote for my University of Chicago application. Hope you enjoyed it!
Lots of fractals,
~Belle