Escaped but still imprisoned

People say that knowledge is power, that it can set you free.

In the third grade, my mom sewed together a butterfly costume for me to wear to the annual halloween party at our neighborhood community building. Being the shy and insecure lil' thing that I was, I put it on and sheepishly walked down the steps into the recreation hall, my eyes quickly darting from girl to boy to see how my costume measured up. We circled around the hall like a merry-go-round, waving to friends and family as we passed. Meanwhile, the judges marked down their votes for the awards. There would be "The Prettiest," "The Most Scary," "The Funniest," and others. I walked home that night with the "Most Original" award, feeling like I had gotten just what I deserved: a plain award for a plain, uninteresting girl. I did not know what the word "original" meant. Honestly, I thought it was a synonym for standard, run-of-the-mill.

I've changed a lot since then: I don't want to be like everyone else. So, I spend time thinking about how to cut my hair, how to write my name, how to do my makeup. I spend time thinking about what clothes to wear, what profession to choose, what blogs to post. I spend time thinking about what to write on my facebook status, what banner to put on my phone, what message to leave on my answering machine. I spend time thinking about how to decorate my room, how to reply to "how are you?", how to spend my time and money.

I spend time thinking about how not to think about these things. I do this all to receive one infamous title: "Most Original."

And, how original am I really? If what I truly seek all the while is the approval of others. Their acceptance. I want to fit in. Now, I'm back at square one.

So, I know what original means.
I still feel powerless.