Crashing
Life is filled with questions and answers.
Some are basic. Should I bring a banana or an apple in my lunch? What homework assignment do I want to do first? Do I want a blue hoodie or a green? Personally, I'd choose banana, math, and green. But that's just me.
Others are more complex, such as the ones wrapped up in the romance of Iris Merola and Andrew McMahon.
They were your average cliche.
Iris was born and raised in Santa Monica, California, attends exclusive, overly expensive private schools, and shops at stores most people dream about even just walking in. Her sidekick is always present in whatever monogrammed bag is hanging off the crook of her elbow that month and her Chanel earrings rarely leave her ears. Her parents were rarely in town, and when they were, they usually busied themselves with beauty treatments in usually failed attempts to look younger (her mother), work (her father), or frequenting social functions that lasted until early morning (both). Coming from a long generation of woman just like herself, Iris was vain, self centered, stuck-up, and really just an all out bitch.
But can people, when handed something in amazingly indescribable words, and in Iris' case something they've never truly had from anyone before, change? And if they can change, will it be for the better? Will it last?
Andrew was addicted and piano was his poison of choice. In other words, he was a musician, completely dedicated to his work. He had started at a young age, and never once looked back. He also was a fraud. Or at least he felt like one. He always wrote about love in his songs in a way that made you think he must have experienced it that strongly. Sure, he had an abundance of family and friends that felt extremely strongly about him, but he had never had it in that most desirable way. Which is why, more often than not, he felt terrible about several of his works of art. In all fairness, he was just a really good writer. But he didn't feel that way. He felt fake, afraid, like a sellout, and unconfident in a way that could seriously rival a thirteen year old girl's.
But can someone who feels completely both unconfident about the thing they love the most and sometimes just unconfident in general, ever build that confidence back up by themselves? Or does that take a much stronger force, perhaps something universally wanted that they themselves had everyone convinced they already had?
And the final question of all, underground, even if you have to dig down for miles, is cliche ever really what it seems?
Some are basic. Should I bring a banana or an apple in my lunch? What homework assignment do I want to do first? Do I want a blue hoodie or a green? Personally, I'd choose banana, math, and green. But that's just me.
Others are more complex, such as the ones wrapped up in the romance of Iris Merola and Andrew McMahon.
They were your average cliche.
Iris was born and raised in Santa Monica, California, attends exclusive, overly expensive private schools, and shops at stores most people dream about even just walking in. Her sidekick is always present in whatever monogrammed bag is hanging off the crook of her elbow that month and her Chanel earrings rarely leave her ears. Her parents were rarely in town, and when they were, they usually busied themselves with beauty treatments in usually failed attempts to look younger (her mother), work (her father), or frequenting social functions that lasted until early morning (both). Coming from a long generation of woman just like herself, Iris was vain, self centered, stuck-up, and really just an all out bitch.
But can people, when handed something in amazingly indescribable words, and in Iris' case something they've never truly had from anyone before, change? And if they can change, will it be for the better? Will it last?
Andrew was addicted and piano was his poison of choice. In other words, he was a musician, completely dedicated to his work. He had started at a young age, and never once looked back. He also was a fraud. Or at least he felt like one. He always wrote about love in his songs in a way that made you think he must have experienced it that strongly. Sure, he had an abundance of family and friends that felt extremely strongly about him, but he had never had it in that most desirable way. Which is why, more often than not, he felt terrible about several of his works of art. In all fairness, he was just a really good writer. But he didn't feel that way. He felt fake, afraid, like a sellout, and unconfident in a way that could seriously rival a thirteen year old girl's.
But can someone who feels completely both unconfident about the thing they love the most and sometimes just unconfident in general, ever build that confidence back up by themselves? Or does that take a much stronger force, perhaps something universally wanted that they themselves had everyone convinced they already had?
And the final question of all, underground, even if you have to dig down for miles, is cliche ever really what it seems?