Saving the Stranger

Why do I have these sudden urges to help people that I don't know? A couple of years ago, I was eating at McDonald's with my dad and I saw this couple... and the girl, whose pants were torn and held by the bare existence of a safety pin, had eyes that haunted me for weeks afterwards. It wasn't that she had abused, mascara-running-all-over, tear tattoed eyes, but they had a sense of sadness to them, an aura, if you will, that made me long to do something for her. And all the while, during the few moments that my visual epiphany occurred, the boyfriend stood there with his arm nonchalantly hanging around his girlfriend's waist. He didn't notice that her eyes wandered in silent desolation, that somehow, a mere stranger could understand in a moment of glancing at her that she wanted more. I saw him as the one holding her back... I wished that I was a guy, a sort of superman of shadows, who would push others into the light that I originate from and out of the darkness in which I operate.
I would have something interesting, climatic, to write, if only I was not such an adolescent and unable to see past my longings and urges.
The painful part of being an adolescent, I think, is that there are things that one longs to do, but one does not understand the reason for the longing. Rather, everyone understands why adolescents want to do the things they want to do (i.e. hormones), but I'm not discussing the physical want. I'm talking about the emotional want/need that possesses one's mind and whirls and twirls all these ideas around in the hollow infinite dimension between the body and the spirit, called the soul. I think that I'm unique somehow, that I take those wants to a different level. My wants are so complex that I don't know if it's for myself I do these things or think of doing things for others, or for the honest longing to help others. I just realized how confusing that was.
Actually, I do know why I do these things... but that's for the world to figure out, don't you think? Because once the entire world--who is certainly not listening to this tenth dimension ranting-- understands the complexity that is behind my motives, the world would be a better place. I guess I can tell the world what's behind my motives, but it won't believe me or listen to me until it realizes that truth for itself, which will be too late. It's because I have God. Don't think that I'm the religious type, an adolescent wanna-be-priest (which is impossible, because I'm a girl, darn it), because I'm not. I'm only one who has prematurely realized what most people have not and dang it, I wish people would listen.
I know, to an unconscious reader, that this entry has a lack of a complete sense of existence, but that is because I'm still discovering these things for myself... I'm digging deeper (a favorite phrase of the director of the peer mediation program at my school: "dig deeper!") into myself and the being at the heart of it all: God. I wish more people would awaken that being within the physical reality that they dwell in, but do not inherently belong to... and I've just lost my train of thought. See my adolescence.

first post

Right now, I'm wondering why a fifteen year old going on twenty-one years of age needs a blog. Nothing significant occurs in my life as of far, other than the general worry of SATs and ACTs. and I am not old enough to discuss the world events that occur around me, because my age does not permit me to give myself the illusion that the world cares about my opinions nor will act upon my insignificant opinions. I don't know why I wanted a blog in the first place. Is it just because that it gives me the barest hope that my inbox will be filled somehow with the illusion that the one that I care most about has sent me a token of his affection? or is it because I merely want to write? I suppose that I could write more, but then again, I really can't. I have school tomorrow (it's now 9:37 at night) and my hands that are aching to write more because of my inherent writer's urgings cannot because, unfortunately, they are also aching from my adolescent growing pains. All that I can leave an inconspicuous and ever-critical reader with (who most likely only exists in the wild depths of my mind and the bi-polar personality of my inbox) is that if one is looking for criticism of world events, one will not find it in my own personal haven on the Internet.
...
Huh. It seems that I just wanted somewhere private to write. But don't let that refrain you from pressing that little button on the tenth dimension of the human world, aka the Internet, that sends a cyber Cupid to my inbox.