“So my friend’s having a Halloween party tonight… Are you gonna dress up for Halloween?”

“Mmm, no I don’t think so. I have no idea what to be.”

“What?! Come on, you can think of something!”

“Haha. Yeah, I haven’t given it any thought yet… Are you gonna be anything?”

“Yeah. I’m probably just gonna throw something on.”

“Yeah, you still have time tonight.”

“Yeah. So my friend’s party is gonna be really fun. Do you have any plans tonight?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Really? You should come to the party! It’ll be reeaallyy fun.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so.”

“[My friend:] Where is it?”

“It’s really close by. Only like 5 or 10 minutes away. I trust you it won’t be more than that! [To me:] Do you think you’re interested in going?”

“Ummm…”

“[My friend:] You should go!”

“Maaaybeee. Depends what I’m doing tonight. I’m not sure yet.”

“Oh well it’s gonna be really fun, I promise you.”

[Waiting for my answer…]

“[Smiles]”

“Well do you think I could get your number, just in case you decide to go?”

“Oh, um…”

[My friend looks at me like I should do it.]

“Yeah, sure….”

My friends are often intrigued by my life. It seems that I’ve got so many stories to tell, yet I myself don’t really feel that way. They tell me, “God Rachel, everyone loves you!” “I ought to hang out with you more…” “Look at that, don’t touch her! Or else you’ll fall in love with her!”

It seems that my life is only interesting because of the things that happen to me–the things I don’t instigate, but happen through chance by others’ instigation.

“Do you know Rachel’s famous? *nudge nudge*” “She’s on Hilary Duff’s YouTube… She’s the girl at 5:06 in Dumbfoundead’s video. Gabe hit on her. She knows Meg & Dia.”

I have to say, my life is pretty funny. A lot of the things that have happened to me in the limelight have been pure coincidence. But, I think it’s a little too early to say I’m just “lucky”…

I went to LA earlier last month to audition for Dia Frampton and “The Voice”, and incidentally, Dia tweeted me back saying she would have personally chosen me.

Yes, the surface of this all sounds nice. I’m the “nice girl who everyone loves” who’s “YouTube famous” and gets “hit on by all the guys”… It may sound a bit forward to state this all, but I’ve been told these things way too many times in recent months, maybe even year… and, I may be starting to believe it.

I’ve never been one to talk much. I was never really good at starting conversations and am rather a bit awkward and like to compliment other peoples’ quirky things, asking how their day is and how their life is, pointing out some weird thing in some person… Maybe people like how easy I make it to talk with me. I like hearing about other people’s lives. I like taking interest in their life, both because people love to talk about themselves, and talking about my own life doesn’t really interest me much. I’d rather it speak for itself.

(Oh the irony how I’m talking about my own right now…) But, there are those times of importance, I find, when the life you live can speak a greater message than what it seems at first. That, ultimately, is what the whole “art” of writing is: sharing a story, and hoping it leaves your reader with something to take with them.

You could say that my life is a distraction; or that I just like to go out a lot–that is, attend events and support good causes.

Earlier last month, I was at my friend’s house and introduced myself to a man very politely before leaving, saying, “Hi… [Reaching out for hand] What’s your name?” “Oh hi, I’m Rachel… Nice to meet you! [Waves goodbye]” A couple days later, my friends tell me that that boy has a really big crush on me, as he later tried to add me on Facebook.

Is it possible that everyone could love a girl–fawn over her, adore her, feel better about themselves around her–but yet, that girl could still be so alone at the same time? Yet, from a distance, she was some sort of “bejeweled prize”… Always so happy, and doing so much… But, you see. There’s a restlessness in that.

People see something in me that they can’t see in themselves. They want to befriend me because they want a taste of that in their own lives. Whether it be the innocence, the hardcore straight-edge-ness, the wisdom, the carefree attitude, the mellow mind, the musician’s soul, the goody-two-shoes, the person-whose-always-smiling, the politeness, the one that nobody seems to hate and everyone seems to love… It seems that people are always wanting something out of me, because they find a piece of themselves they want back. The instigations… The company… The wholehearted attention into their lives… They’re befriending the lonely girl all for what she appears to be–with all her love, the people flocking to her, and her seemingly effortless popularity…

And yet, I try my damned hardest not to let any of this get to my head.

With that, I’m still acting out of my way for people… I befriend them when they need a friend… I’m still that “dream,” and I strive for my own personal goals and live on my own terms (when everyone is living for someone else)… I continue to let people act upon me, and, not because I feel obligated or forced to, but because that’s who I naturally am. I love to be there for people, when I can’t be there for myself. And that’s why people love me. I’m everyone’s “idea” while I’m living and doing the things I choose to do–involving myself in all these clubs, activities, hobbies, attending concerts, events, and spontaneous trips and auditions hours away… I’m not living out of character. And yet, there’s still something missing. | I’ve always been a patient person. Maybe too much. Maybe it be that dream, the things I wish to be doing now and involving myself in… I’m in no rush and have been loving what my life is offering me now, but perhaps the happiness people bestow on me seems to remind me that my life isn’t all that “fun” and “interesting”… Yes, my own life makes me laugh too at times, but, you’re not missing out on anything either.