What The F***ck Are Perfect Places, Anyways?

“I’m nineteen and I’m on fire, but when I’m dancing I’m alright. It’s just another graceless night.” – Lorde, “Perfect Places,” Melodrama.

In the old room where I grew up, I spent many restless nights being terrified of irrational fears. I used to be afraid of aliens coming down and abducting me (I know you think I’m lying, but I was), of Chucky sneaking into my room and killing me (is that too morbid for an eight year old?), or Voldemort coming and cutting my wrists like he did to Harry in Goblet of Fire.

I used to lay in my bed and stare at the florescent solar system my parents hung in the ceiling and wish to be older.

I used to believe that when you were older, there would be no more restless nights. I would look at my parents and I wanted to be just as fearless as them.

One night, when I was frightened by one of my irrational fears again, I called my mom and made her sit by my bedside until I could be able to calm myself down again. While she was sitting there, I told her that I couldn’t wat until I was thirty, because that meant that I could wear heels, buy pretty clothes, and do whatever I wanted to do all day.

She, knowing very well that that is quite far away from what actual real life is like, just kissed my forehead and told me that I should enjoy my time as a kid.

I don’t think there’s ever been a point in my life where I haven’t wished to be in different circumstances.

When I was a kid it was growing up, but now that I’ve learned the coldness of life in certain moments, I started wishing for different things.

To get into a good college, to be prettier, to be smarter, to be better, to find happiness, to finally be able to be satisfied with what I have.


“Are you lost enough? Have another drink get lost in us, this is how we get notorious.”

All of my wishes changed last year, junior year of high school, where I started to not care about a lot of things. Although, it was one of the toughest years, it was the one year where I can definitely tell you that I felt true happiness. I stopped wishing for another life, and I started to fall in love with my own. I was in cloud nine.

From driving late at night with my friends and eating burgers at 2:00 am, to taking on new challenges that helped me grow as a person.

I truly felt like this year was filled with blessings that brought me true happiness. The one that literally brings tears to your eyes because it’s too much to handle in the physical spectrum and your body has to let it out before your insides implode.

That was the code I started to live by. Once you get a small taste of those butterflies, you realize that you can’t go back to your old lifestyle. On one of my best days, where my happiness was over the moon, I made a promise to myself that that was the feeling I had to work hard for to feel every day.

And I struggled. Throughout the whole year, I struggled. But I kept that buzz in the back of my mind, every single time I felt defeated.

There’s better days to come, you’ll go places where you’ll fine immense happiness” and I’ve lived by that code every single day.

However, this summer in the middle of June, I woke up one day with this extreme urge to create and do different things. I wanted to see new skies, meet different faces, hear different voices; I was so sick of the ones in my hometown.

And I got exactly what I wanted. It came in the form of a new found best friend, the type you know was brought specifically by the universe. Where you both travel miles and met each other by the uncanny circumstances of life.

As I got to know this friend, I realized how similar we are. We are both passionate about our own work, we’re both sentimental, and another thing: we both like to wish


 

“All of the things we’re taking, ‘cause we are young and we’re ashamed, Send us to perfect Places”

It was late at night, and we were in a crowded room but we were still able to hold a close conversation. She told me about her wishes of being able to find her purpose, her place, buzz she could feel every day.

She reminded me of myself a few years ago. Feeling left out of everyone’s happiness and love. I made up stories in my mind of what I would finally do when I had a perfect life.

She is in the same place I used to be. The unfortunate thing about that place, is that you can feel incredibly lonely. Because you don’t feel like you can share any of these wishes with anyone, and you feel guilty for being unhappy, and you feel stupid for being ungrateful, and you feel like there is no one to turn to. No one that can understand you.

This place and mindset makes your vision foggy, limiting your vision of a better tomorrow. Leaving you hopeless and willingness to get through the day.


 

“All the nights spent off our faces, trying to find these perfect places. What the fuck are perfect places, anyways?”

As soon as she told me this, I saw my old reflection, but I also felt the huge urge to tell her to keep fighting. To keep looking forward to small things, to find things that give you butterflies in your stomach. The things that make you feel alive and tingly, and make you laugh until you cry.

In that moment, if happiness was a physical thing, I wanted to take a small piece out of mine and give it to her forever.

We spend so much time wishing for perfect places, and different circumstances, but perfect places don’t exist, only perfect mindsets exist.

To have complete trust and faith, in whatever higher being you believe in, that you are capable of reaching a place where you’ll feel comfortable.

That place, is waiting for you. Waiting for you to take risks, and take the fall. That quest is tricky and exciting, and it comes with beautiful people who want the same thing as you, who feel the same things as you.

People who wish the same things as you.

So keep your feet on the ground, and your heartbeat steady, and take on your quest.

After all, what the fuck are perfect places?

 


Featured Image by:

Kristina Pinero.

Follow her Instagram at: @kristinavisuals and  @kristinapinero

Listen to “Perfect Places” by Lorde from her album Melodrama:

 


By Michelle Rojas

Read more texts by this author

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