A Chance at Something Never Meant to Be?

Are You There God? Because I Am Trapped.

You will not believe what happened! Well, I guess You will believe it. I mean, You're... You. But nevertheless, I must retell the whole event to You. See, the way I view prayers, they're almost like a way to talk to a friend. Because that's what I view You as, God. A best friend whom I can tell anything to. And You understand. At least, I can pretend that You understand. I never really am assured about really anything with You, God. I never seem to hear anything back from You, God. But I just keep believing that You're there. At least it's better than pinching my eyes closed at night when I lie in bed, hoping someone, anyone, hears my radiating thoughts. So I'm going to keep writing. And hope that You really are there.
Dad still hasn't given me back my lyrics. In fact, I don't know where they even are. I hope they aren't gone for good. Oh, I do more than hope, God. I'm telling You about them, isn't that praying? But the night he took them away, after talking to You, I wrote something else on a spare piece of paper from my math binder. It was the start of a new song:

I guess I found out you love me
Some time ago
The decision was made
But it wasn't by choice
And the consequences come out
When you looked down and smiled

Do you regret it?
Do you wish you didn't have to?
'Cause your love doesn't seem
As real as I would've liked
Loved

After that I had to stop, because my dad came in to say goodnight, and apologize for losing his temper. Before he made it to my desk, though, to keep up his assumption that I was working the last problems of that math homework he had explained, I quickly stashed the sheet of notebook paper somehow in my math binder.
Apparently, the next day at school, it had fallen out. Because today, my English teacher stopped me in the hall, and pulled me into her room while the other students were filing to their Connections periods. She told me that she had found that sheet of music in the hall, and had just happened to realize it had come from me, the last one tripping into History. She didn't tell me, and instead had read it. Then, today, while the other students were either involuntarily sweating in Physical Ed or getting educated on abstinence in Health, I got to spend two whole periods singing my heart out to Mrs. Mary. She's the only teacher that insists we call her by her first name, so I guess that's the first hint that she's something different. Also, she's quite a bit younger than most of the other teachers. When at first she asked me if I'd be willing to sing some of it for her, I panicked. But she gently and slowly coaxed the notes out of me. I sang the whole that had came to me lying in bed the night before, and she actually listened. She seemed genuinely interested! She gave me little bits and pieces of note changes and pitch advice. Turns out she had a minor in musical theater when she was in college. The second bell rang suddenly and startled us, so we quickly recorded what we had so far, and she said that she would speak to me tomorrow.
Lord, do You get why I'm so happy? Can You believe this? It seems so surreal! I feel like I finally have a chance out of that pipe that I'm wedged so tightly in. I actually have a little bit of breathing room right now.

I'm Trapped.

I'm Not an Idiot! Yeah... Right?

Are You There God? Because I am Trapped.

I didn't understand a thing that Mrs. Clerk taught in math today. It didn't make sense! I only saw numbers and lines and dots. Then, they would shift around in an unknown order and turn into another number. I went home and I asked my dad to help, because he's the best with math. In fact, he's an accountant at Suntrust. He's very proud that he was able to get the job, what with Indian stereotypes and all. But, when I asked him, he was dismayed to find how bad I was at computing the "simple" equations. His plain disappointment soon elevated to an anger, as I continued to be confused. Then, I noticed that he had started drawing out simple elementary number problems. That's when I started crying. He was treating me as if I was an idiot just because I didn't get one little pebble of concept in the glacier of math. He only stared at me and told me, "Stop crying, I'm only trying to help you." Of course, that only prompted me to cry even harder. I know that he's trying to help me. I get that. But, listen. I am the assumed smartest student in all of my classes. Because I'm from India. I have the highest average. I am not an idiot.
Did I mention that this whole scene was over one problem? I told him that I didn't completely understand her teachings that day in class, and he took that as a request to check the answers of the whole sheet. Turns out I had had some sort of an understanding of Mrs. Clark's teaching, as I had configured all of the problems right except for one, which was caused by a simple mistake. But he took it as if I had completely misunderstood something else we hadn't even covered in class. Expectantly, whatever he was lecturing me about through the problem I understood after a second glance, I had no idea of. But instead of understanding why I was absolutely flummoxed, he finally slammed the worksheet down on my desk and told me, "Your main priority right now is your academics. Get your head out of the clouds. Stop that ridiculous hobby of yours. Your singing is distracting you from your schoolwork!" The feeling was dreadful, with those word simply piercing my heart, leaving a metallic aftertaste in my mouth. With his thick Indian accent, and the way he was so intensified that he was spitting. It took all my urge not to wipe my face and furrow my brows in incomprehension at his words, for that would have been disrespect.
What happened next was what hurt me the most, God. He took my lyrics that I had been working on. He took my accumulation of thoughts, hums, and tunes over a total of seven years. Now he won't give them back. It's like he has confiscated my heart, God. My only hope is that he'll take the time to read them, and change the way he feels about this. I know that in his mind, he did what he believed You would have wanted him to. He did what he thought was best for me. He did it out of his love.
Just... Why doesn't it feel like it?

I'm Trapped

Hopeless Expectations and The Death of My Business

Are You There God? Because I am Trapped.

My life isn't my own anymore. Instead, I feel like a rag doll in that Apple game. I'm being fired from cannon to cannon, without any say-so, because my words are incomprehensible. For some reason, I have suddenly grown up within the short period of the last two years of my life. Now comes the never ending fretting about my so-called future. God, I've been skimming some of Your Word after Madeline invited me with her on Wednesday. Nothing much serious, just some famous verses Google provided. And it says not to worry. Why does it seem like everyone I am supposed to trust is an intense hypocrite when it comes to that? I am young! I want to scream it out to the world.
My parents have started piling up on me with ever more things to do. Especially since I told them about Wednesday night. My dad immediately ordered a stack of countless books comparing and contrasting religions. He says these are to strengthen my faith. That's not what I thought being a Christian was about, God. I thought it meant realizing I was really loved by You, and that the love that you had for me is everlasting. It meant having never ending joy because I know I am loved, and that I don't have to do anything for it.
Now it's my sophomore year and my parents have already hopelessly decided that I must go to Princeton. My GPA is a 3.98, but it isn't good enough. They pile on extra credit work, and I feel as if I am in a hard, narrow tube. It's hard and sturdy, and it isn't big enough to fit me, but I'm stuck in it, about waist deep. And with every book my dad plops for me to read, with every assignment my mom finds unsatisfactory, with every harsh comment to stop that ridiculous singing in the shower, with every hard lecture I have to sit through about time management, I feel as if it is a rock carefully balanced on my head. And with each rock, I sink deeper into the tube. It's too thin, and I am starting to have difficulty breathing. But I can't move. I can't give a sudden cry for help to pry me out of this pit of despair, because then the rocks will fall. And as the rocks fall, one tribute that I value goes with it. I try and wiggle to breathe better, and my mom's pride in me, that rock, it falls. I push against the sides, and my dad's hope that I can do great things, that rock, it falls. It falls, and I look down to where it falls to. My world is no longer there. Instead, there is a huge chasm, and I am suspended by seemingly nothing in this tube that I can't escape. The rocks fall, until they are out of sight. And I look at this tube I am held in, and for a second, I panic. I am placed in space, with nothing of support that I can see, feel, hear, or touch. But I am reminded that I have not fallen. Things may look very bleak, but I'm still managing to stand. And I realize, that invisible support, it is You, God. You are holding me up.

I'm Trapped.