Trying New Things

So today I decided I wanted to make a blog.

I need a place to talk. Even if it's just to the internet--not even real people. A place to share my secrets to people who can't tell them to anyone else. Anyway.

I've always had this weird fascination and obsession with water. I'm always happiest when it rains or when I'm swimming. Originally I thought it was just because I've grown up around water--I mean, my dad is a fisherman afterall, and we've lived on houseboats my whole life.

But then things got weird. Gradually, I found myself slightly able to control water. At my will, I could bend it a bit. I could make it go a little ways in any direction I imagined. I was a little surprised at this, but kept it a secret. My little secret. Slowly, water started becoming almost a best friend. As I grew older, I found myself more and more dependant on it. It seemed after awhile that I always needed to be around water, as if it was becoming a lifeline. My loving parents laughed and joked that growing up a fisherman had caused my love of water. But I think I know otherwise.

By the time I was ten, I could make little balls of water and carry them around. I could also create short, weak currents in the ocean. I used this talent to help my dad catch more fish. He was old and tired, and I felt bad for him. I wanted to help. He had grown up in England, but when I was six the fishing started getting bad so we packed up a few months later and found ourselves in America. The fishing was great there. I really enjoyed how happy we all were. It was a relief to see my father smiling so often. But as luck would have it, the fish started disappearing here, too. I was ten when it started making an impact. The first thing I noticed was that my strong parents had stopped joking as often. Next, I noticed that our house boat became unkept. The once-cheerful paint had begun to fade and peel, and the floors and doors began to squeak.

Of course I wanted to do whatever I could, so I tried to help him catch more fish. For a couple of months, it helped. It was a happy day in our house when we had enough money to repaint the outside and we had a Thanksgiving-worthy feast with some close family friends.

Then the next week, I started hearing a sort of ring in my ears. It was weak, but it bothered me. Afraid that I'd started getting another ear infection (like the ones I used to get so often as a young, water-loving child), I kept it a secret, too. They didn't need something else to worry about. However, my ears never hurt--the sounds just got louder as the weeks passed by. Before long, I could distinguish the sounds as words--even though they didn't remotely sound like words at all. It was as if I had suddenly started picking up a new language. While this intrigued me, I didn't have too much time to think about it. It was one day when I was helping my dad catch a few extra fish that it hit me. When the fish were being pulled out of the water, I could feel their agony. I could hear them crying out. This hurt me so hard that I just started crying. Was I really hurting them? What had I been doing all these months?

I stopped using my water tricks, and I probably laughed a little too much because I was trying to cover up my frustration. Eventually, I couldnt' stay away, but I was careful. I wouldn't hurt a living thing ever again.

Anyway, so to this day, my 13th Christmas eve, I've been getting better at controlling water. Many times it's wild and untame, but that's part of my love for it. It's got a mind of its own. I've never told anyone any of this--I'm too scared it will mess something up. And I don't know what's going to happen next. Will another strange talent surface? To be honest, I'm pretty scared one will. Yet it interests me...maybe it could be something useful?

Well, it's lunch time. Hopefully this blog won't become another of those one-post blogs that becomes forgotten and unloved. I want this blog to be a diary. A well worn book, in essence. A close friend.