It was 5:50 on a Wednesday night. I had gotten an unnecessary amount of homework, my phone wasn't working, and I had accidentally stained my favorite shirt with my tears. While I was doing my calculus homework, my little sister, Pearl, ran into the room, screaming. I didn't know what she was saying, and when I tried to ask her, she would just scream even louder. Finally, she calmed down. "What is it? Why are you screaming?" She grinned at me, and then said, "I just got two new followers on Instagram!" I looked at her, and shook my head in disappointment.
I am convinced that this generation is probably at its lowest point. People are taking interest in such miniscule things, and no one is exploring the remarkable places outside of the world that they have confined themselves to. People are far too involved with social media, which forces them into a shell in which they are too shy to break out of. Every single day, I see the face of a troubled youth with their face buried in their iPhone. Most of my peers have lost their confidence, because they are deemed "unpopular" on different forms of social networking. Everyone is trying to copy each other. They try to do weird things with their hair, they hardly wear clothes anymore, and they only have good days when their phone is "blowing up." And style? It might as well be fading away; Crop tops, black leggings, paint-on jeans…it's all just trash. Style is the one thing that helped people to learn about themselves; it gave people a sense of uniqueness. People have forgotten about this, it appears, and now everyone is just a human Barbie doll, walking through a bleak world.
I sigh, as my sister runs away, still ecstatic over her net gain of followers. I surf the internet, trying to find some inspiration for the upcoming poetry slam. It's where a bunch of creative individuals (such as myself) come together at a café, to discuss, through poetry, our many grievances about today's society. But this week, I am trying to speak about something other than a damaged world. I'm trying to talk about hope. However, as I search the internet for some hope, I find myself being discouraged. I see that there is talk about a new Action/Adventure movie, which will no doubt force in two pasty people trying to fall in love with each other. What a cliché, I think to myself. Then, I see a picture of seven girls, all dressed with the same ensemble, but in different colors. But then, my search for hope was over when I see a video of a girl getting a spray tan. Why do you need to waste your money on this? Why do you need to be a couple of shades whiter? I ask myself, completely horrified. I close my laptop. I begin to walk around, talking out loud. "Oh, when will these dark and dreary days end? When will I find my inspiration? I use to find the inspiration in everything; from nature, buildings, and even the people around me…I use to draw and design like there was no tomorrow! But, now, I'm afraid that tomorrow will turn out like today. Please, if anyone is up there, listening to my grievances, give me a sign that there is hope!" I finish, and crawl up into a fetal position, awaiting my death.
Suddenly, the doorbell rings. I go over to the door, and open it. I see a postal worker walking away from our house. I then look down. It's a brown box. I pick it up, and take it inside. It didn't quite say who it was addressed to, so I made the rash decision of opening it up. I took out a butter knife, and began to cut through the tape. I opened up the four flaps of the box, and I took out the white tissue paper out of the box. It was in that moment where I could've sworn that time had frozen; the stars had aligned in a perfect position; the world was in a state of flawlessness. What I had called a "rash decision" just seconds ago, I am now calling the most glorious moment of my life. When I opened up those four flaps, I had laid my eyes on what I thought was God's greatest gift: a pair of flowy white pants, white a picture of an angry Waluigi printed all over the pants. I was in shock; I don't think I've ever experienced such beauty in my entire life. I've seen skies that looked as though they were on fire; I've seen a river start to mist during a thunderstorm; I've seen the night sky, and the billions of stars spread out across it. I thought I had witnessed perfect acts of God; until now. This was, by far, the most righteous thing that He has ever made. And I had the most perfect pair of pants, in my hands. More importantly, with these newfound pants, was a newfound inspiration.