I'm Turning 20 Years Old

I'm turning twenty years old.
No more teens, tweens, or in-betweens.
No more feelings or themes of inadequacy
Finally a gleam of my dreams and things
I think that I deserve becoming a reality.

19 is fine, 21 is cool, but two decades?
Holy shit, am I right?

I can't cry, or lie, or fight, or light a bag
Of shit on fire and chalk it up to "hormones"
As a result. I am now an adult.

I've been able to go to prison for two years,
But at least now it'll make sense.
And now I represent a whole new demographic
Of people who are presented with obstacles
And I'm pretty sure we can't eat popsicles
In public anymore because we're twenty years old.

Popsicles are cold. So is the world.

Now I have to be bold.
I have to probably get a job that turns me into someone I'm not
Because someone told me to fold instead of going all-in.
And people tell me "Don't withhold who you are."
When before I was told to behold the very opposite.

I practiced it. Being someone else.
Now it's hard to be myself.

I put myself on the shelf
I was made selfish instead of selfless
Nobody could care less if I was made less
I've been conditioned to impress instead of express
It's been impressed in my mind.
I've been told to respect authority as opposed to self-defense,
Respect others, expect nothing in return
Only return into what the world had made you.

Defenseless.

Is this an exaggeration? Maybe.
But maybe not.

There's nothing else to be taught, and someday
My body will just rot away.
Another product of what we are today.

I'm turning twenty years old.

"Be bolder. You're older.
Become a mold of what we told you.
Control yourself. Don't boil over."

I am twenty years older.

Writers Block

For the past four days I've been trying to write a blog post about how I feel. And I have three drafts in my posts all about the same thing. You. And I can't post them. Because they suck. And because you give me writers block.

You give me writers block because all I can think about is you and I don't know how to put that into words. 

All I ever want to do is be around you and hug you. And just talk the day away with you. We can talk about Star Wars or the past relationships we've had. Or we can talk about how amazing the one we have right now is. Because it is. Because we are practically the same person. And we love all the same stuff, and that's wonderful, but the exciting part to me is all the new stuff that we'll discover we love together. I know that if we do that, we won't ever get bored with each other. Even if we are the same.

I want to watch every single movie on our list. Every single movie musical, every single comedy, drama, tragedy, whatever it is. I don't care about the movies. I care about YOU sitting next to me watching the movie.

I want to go on long drives and hold hands with you on those drives because that's my favorite thing to do. I want to Skype you and text and snapchat and all that stuff. AND I WANT TO WRITE BLOG POSTS ABOUT YOU. But you give me writers block. And you leave me speechless. Typeless. Whatever.

You're amazing. Oops. I wrote that. 

And I want to play video games with you. Does that make me trash? Maybe. But YOU haven't picked up an Xbox controller in five years and I need someone to play Lego Star Wars with. You can be Obi-Wan. 

You make my heart and my mouth go a million miles an hour because I can't help it. You fascinate me and you turn me on (in the most non-creepy way possible) and you make me feel different feelings than any of those other girls I used to date. All the ones that hurt me and made me super afraid to even talk to you. But boy am I glad that I put on my big boy pants and grew some balls so I could have the courage to talk to you. I will be forever grateful for H&M and that blue dress. Forever.

I will be forever grateful to Japanese food and Sushi. And I will be forever grateful to the Book of Genesis in the Bible. I will be forever grateful to FitBits for running out of battery and public high school concerts that happen in the gym. And I'm forever grateful to In N Out shakes for being thick. And I will be forever grateful to blue hearts for being the best thing in my life right now. And I will be forever grateful to you. You amazing, funny, sweet, caring, gentle, beautiful person. 

Well, there it is. The blog post that's been waiting four days to happen. And I know you're reading this. So, hi. You're really cute and beautiful and I like you a lot. So here's to you. And here's to us. And here's to writers block.

To My Future Wife

To my love,

Hi! 

You know, I'm 17 right now and the reason I'm writing you (now) is because I've been watching a lot of movies and TV shows where people are just in love and they tell all these things to their significant others, and I said "You know what, I feel like that too but I don't know who to share it with!"

Obviously I picked you since I will be married to you. I don't know who you are yet, but boy I'm a lucky one.

Let me just say that I love you with all of my heart. You're perfect in every way. 

I know that you know nobody is perfect. And I love how you always tell me you're not perfect even though to me, you're the most perfect person I've ever met. And that's why I love you. Because you know that I know. And I'm okay with knowing that. Just as long as YOU KNOW that I think you're perfect.

You know, I can't wait until after our wedding when we get to go to bed. 

Don't worry, I'm not talking about sex.

I have slept in a queen size bed my whole life, and you know what? It sucks to do that alone. I can't wait until the day where I get to sleep next to you and just know you're there. To be able to hold your hand or wrap my arms around your body. I can't wait until I know that as long as we both live, I'll never be alone.

I'm also way excited to have kids!

Again, don't worry, I'm not talking about sex.

I love the idea of creating a life and being able to raise a child as our own. I really hope it's a girl. I really do. Not to say that I wouldn't love a boy but I REALLY want to have a little baby girl.

I just have one favor to ask you though.

If and when we do have a little girl, I want to have the privilege to name her. Obviously I acknowledge that you are the one that has to carry the baby and eventually give birth. We can have 100 kids and you can name ALL of them. That's totally fine with me! I just ask that you allow me to name our first girl, and I want her name to be this:

Lea Marie Smith.

Lea because Lea Michele (don't judge, okay?), Marie because that name has been running in my family for years, and Smith because... Well... Yeah.

I vow to always sweep you off of your feet. Literally. Everyday. I give way good hugs and I will lift you off the ground, this, sweeping you off of your feet.

I vow to always listen. I have always prided myself on being there for other people, and I know that I love and care about you enough to say with 100% certainty that I will always be there for you to listen. Always. I don't care if it's something as petty as not being able to find a diaper. I want you to know that I am interested in your feelings and I will always want to listen.

I vow to always love you. I mean, I married YOU for a reason right? I hope you married me for the same reason. Whether or not we go through a divorce, fights, or anything else that may or may not affect our relationship, know that I love you with all of my heart and I will love you every day that you walk on the earth. I love you. YOU. And I love you so so so so much. You're amazing. I love you. 

Anyways, that was a letter to you. Maybe you'll actually read it one day. Or maybe you're reading it right now. Regardless of that, thank you. Thank you. Thank you for being who you are and for loving me. You have no idea how much I need you.

Love,

-Ardon

Real

Once upon a time I fell in love with a girl.

(I promise this isn't a love story)

But I did. I fell in love with a girl. LOVE PEOPLE. I FELT LOVE. I know I'm only 17 and I know I'm young but I LOVED this girl so much. I felt like I was going insane and thought the butterflies in my stomach would one day just fly out because there were too many of them! I began to start thinking "I need to get this girl to like me back!"

My mom always told me I could talk to her about anything and that she would always be there for me. So I decided to talk to her about my new-found love. I'll cut all the fluff and cut to the chase. My mother told me that I wasn't in love. Just shot me down and said that I couldn't be in love. I was way too young to comprehend that. "Love is blind honey. Your love isn't real." 

I'm sorry, let me say that again. My mother had just told me that my love wasn't REAL. As if I was incapable to feel such feelings because of course, I couldn't. I was just too young. 

Then I proceeded to have a SERIES of adults tell me that I was incapable of love because love didn't exist in teenagers. Every counselor, teacher, parent, aunt, uncle, adult friend, and even people I didn't know told me that there was no way I was in love.

Once upon a time I was depressed. 

(I promise that this isn't a depression story)

But I was. I was clinically depressed. I know. Mainstream. But I FELT DEPRESSION. What else was I supposed to do? 

Now, I'm not saying I'm so popular, but I had a very considerable amount of friends who I cared about dearly and who I considered to be my "Best Friends." Once I had started to feel this depression, what did I do? I naturally turned to friends because I didn't want to be depressed, if that seemed to be the case. 

Unfortunately, I had two people; Not one, not three, but TWO people tell me that one of my "Best Friends" had said that my depression wasn't REAL. They said that I was pretending to be depressed because I wanted to fit in, because being depressed was "Cool" 

I'm sorry, I'll just say it one more time. One of my BEST FRIENDS who I had held so near and dear to my heart and who I cared for more than most other people on this earth had said that my depression was fake. Not REAL. Of course it wasn't depression. I can't think for myself. 

I remember when I told my parents I might be depressed. They simply said "No you're not. You're not depressed." They basically told me that my feelings weren't REAL. My parents and best friend didn't believe me. 

Look, I don't want to write a post where you say "Wow you have a bad mom." or "Wow your 'best friend' sucks." NO. I don't want that. I want to bring to your attention something that is sweeping the nation, and has swept my life. 

ALL TEENAGERS ARE THE SAME. 

I think it's amazing how all the adults and public figures tell us to break social norms and you don't have to "fit in"! Just be yourself! Yet, when teenagers do these things, they're viewed as abnormal or "deranged". 

All teenagers are the same, so apparently we all can't feel real things. 

I don't know what's more real, a teenager who "thinks" they're in love, or a teenager who feels compelled to take his own life. When someone is holding a razor to their arms and all they can say "Just do it!" 

That's real.

It's just amazing how nothing is real until something like this happens. And then people say "Why didn't we see it sooner? What could we have done?"

Listen.

Be there.

Be real.

Hi

Hi, I don't think we've ever met. My name is Ardon Smith. I've done a lot of things in my life. One of the things I did was start a blog. This is my blog. Not many people read it. That's okay though. I never really kept myself a secret as the author of this blog, but if by any chance you had NO CLUE WHO I WAS, here I am.

 I am an actor. Hence why I am blue in that picture. Without acting I would legitimately be dead. So, there. Also, I'm not the best singer, dancer, writer, actor, friend, etc, yadda, yadda, yadda. But I've learned to try and be happy with myself. Nothing in this world matters more to me than my friends and my craft. I hope that you can say the same for you. I love almost everyone and if you want to be my friend, I can happily oblige. This will not go down in history as a huge reveal or the best blog post ever written, but this is who I am.

Kingdoms (Inspired by Emily Ruth Pew)

You know what? I'm a king. A king of what, you ask? Well... A... A kingdom.

In reality, we're all kings and queens. We rule over our hearts. And as kings and queens we determine who enters our kingdom. We hold that power. And even though we are the kings and queens, we have little power over what people do when they enter our kingdom.

Once they are there, what was once held by us as power is now viewed as vulnerability. And people can choose whether or not they stay in our kingdom. 

They can also choose whether or not they stab us in the back.

Once people have entered your kingdom, they can see all that you've gone through. And all that you long for and they can view the most raw emotions that you feel. I mean, it is your heart. They can see that your kingdom is in turmoil, and they realize that's why you've let them in. To see if they have the slightest chance of rebuilding your broken kingdom.

We've all let people's past our walls and into our kingdoms. We've all been in other people's kingdoms, we've all been left alone in our kingdoms, and we've all left other people's kingdoms. People have decided to stab us in the back. Right in our own kingdom. 

A lot of people have closed their gates. They know it's not worth it to have people allowed in their kingdom anymore. Either they don't want to have the same thing happen to them, or they don't want to have other people deal with their kingdom. It's their kingdom, it's their problem!

Right?

If anything, I have been stabbed and left by almost anyone I've held close, and my gates should be locked with a HUGE LOCK. I've endured so much pain because my kingdom is like a theme park.

The fact that my kingdom gates are wide open shock me.

(Inspired by Emily Ruth Pew)

Changing Brains

I have two things that have been with me my whole life.

Literally. My whole life.

These "things" aren't material things. They are living, breathing, and amazing. They are the most wonderful and priceless things that I have the joy of living with, and they have always been there for me. Whenever things get rough, or I need to cry, I find them and I let everything out. I could not ask for anything more.

Yet... I have endured endless ridicule for having them.

Well, I guess they had me. They are my parents. And, unfortunately, they don't have a life that people would desire. You see, my parents have a disability. It's not something that can stop them from every day things. It's not a condition, it's not a disorder. It's just that there's a little part of their brain that just doesn't function that prevents them from hearing.

Yes, my parents are deaf.

Yes, they can drive. Yes, you can talk to them. And YES, I know sign language.

"Wow that's really cool! Sign something for me!"

That is one of the phrases I will just have to get used to hearing because I don't think it's going to go away any time soon.

They work at a deaf company that designs, programs, and manufactures video phones for deaf people to be able to communicate. My father is a graphic designer for the company, and my mom is the head trainer (although she does a lot more than asked).

My father graduated from the University of Tampa with a Graphic Design major and an Associate's Degree. Also, my mother graduated from Gallaudet University in Washington D.C. with a Computer Science major and a Bachelor's Degree.

I know. Such an achievement, right?

People fail to understand that deaf people can do anything except hear.

Unfortunately, that is not where the ignorance stops. To this day, I still hear the crude remarks made about my parents from my closest friends. And from people whom I did not even tell that my parents were deaf.

"Did you hear about this new movie that came out? Well I guess your parents didn't!"

Yeah. But does it really shock you?

People love to tear down weaknesses they find in people. Some people do it, and don't mean harm by it. Some people do it to build their confidence.

Some people do it just for the hell of it.

Once you light a match in the forest, the wildfire spreads quickly, and it spreads out of control. You can put out a fire. You can re-plant trees and grow grass, but you can't give back a part of a person's heart. Without them, I wouldn't have a heart to be ripped and torn.

My parents are deaf. 

The thing is... I can't change it.

One part of me wishes my parents weren't deaf. The rest of me wishes that people wouldn't ridicule ME for something that I had no control over. I didn't exist when this happened. But the fact that I wish I didn't exist now is a problem.

Nothing stops parents' love. Absolutely nothing.

My parents are minorities. So, in theory, that's like making fun of me because my parents are African-American. In case you didn't know, Nazis didn't just hate the Jewish race, they hated everything that was different from them. My father had a Nazi grandma who would punish him for using sign language at the table. His hands would be lambasted, and then he was forced to sit on his hands for the remainder of the meal.

My mother was born in Guatemala, and at the age of three, she had to leave Guatemala by herself and live in Florida. Away from her parents. There was no deaf education in Guatemala, so my grandparents sent her to Florida School for the Deaf. Then once my mother was about fourteen, she moved back to Guatemala, only to not be accepted. People called her a whore and slut right to her face, and what was she to do about it. First of all, she could not hear, and second of all, she didn't understand Spanish.

I know, I know. Sob story. Boo hoo. You probably don't give a shit that I have deaf parents.

But you know what? My parents made it. They went through high school, college, and now they have a family that loves them, a son that embraces the culture, and they have jobs where they love what they are doing.

And the thing is... I wouldn't change it.

Who Am I?

Who am I?

24601?

No that can't be it. That's like... Hugh Jackman or Alfie Boe. Or Ramin Karimloo.

Whatever, that's not me.

Then... Who am I? I mean, really. I want to know. Because I'm having a hard time finding out my identity. Yes, you can give me an ID that will tell you everything about me. I'm Bennett Franklin, I go to Lone Peak High School, I am "this height" with "this color of eyes" and with "this amount of pounds."

But I want to get to know the real me.

Yeah, I know. I don't even know who I am. I'm legitimately soul searching.

And I am as lost as hell.

This trip that I'm taking with myself feels like it's been going on forever. I don't know if it really is going to stop any time soon.

I've spent (almost) all of my life looking for the good in other people. Finding things about them that made me happy and made me want to be around them.

But I haven't spent any time finding the good in me.

Do I regret looking for the good in other people? No. I love so many people now because of it.

But I don't love myself.

You know, it's funny. I never thought this would happen to me, but I found myself legitimately crying in one of the school's bathrooms today. It all became so much and I found out that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't see myself positively. I tried going to the counseling office, but nobody was there.

Maybe that was a sign.

Maybe that is the world telling me that this is something that nobody else can help.

This is me.

This is my problem.

This is Who I Am.