So before when I mentioned and asked what you thought it was that made us human I never really explained what I thought. I asked you a question, but I never even told you the answer.

But I think most of that is because I don't really have an answer for you. Or perhaps there is no answer at all.

I not so sure exactly what it is that makes us. But I wonder sometimes. And all the times I wondered I came up with possibilities.

But my conspiracies make sense. But anything that is completely illogical and complicated could suddenly be the most simplest and rational answer there is. If you really want it to be that is. Because it could be all in your head, and when its all in your head you can make yourself believe anything you want to believe.

I can make myself believe that my speculations and conspiracies didn't have to be true. It only mattered if they made sense to me. Because the thing was, my reasons that were simple and logical to me could have been the complete opposite. The reason I think the world is round or what exactly made us human may be the most out of the box explanation there is, and it was probably anything but logical.

But I say it doesn't matter. I don't think everything has to make sense, because if you think about it our world doesn't make sense. I don't think theres such a thing as a simple answer to a question complex and complicated.

I've got a new theory, I don't think it is always that an answer has to be logical. Because sometimes, logical explanations to complex questions, didn't exist at all.

I didn't ask Mrs. Hazel my teacher for her opinion because I know that she unlike me is normal. She'd give me a science answer, and a science answer is not something that I want.

I asked my mother what she thought but she told me she didn't know and she knows me so she knew that it wasn't a science answer that I was looking for. I was looking for an answer beyond, an answer that didn't have to be completely true or that didn't have to make sense.

And yes I know I told you I thought the world didn't make sense and never explained why I think that is. But I'll do that later, well... if I remember that is.

With me being this young I bet my brain wasn't as big. Theres only so much I can remember and so much I can hold.

These are one of my limits to thinking beyond, wish I were older. But at the same time I don't, being older was hard because I think you finally realized what kind of world we lived in. But when your a child, part of being so carefree is that your oblivious to all that. Your aren't burdened with having to think too much for too long because the thing was we couldn't. Our brains were not yet big enough to do so.

It was both a privilege and a limitation.

In some ways I wish I could think too much because I think thinking too much is part of what lets your mind drift further.

But I also understand that sometimes thinking too much was... painful. I think part of that was related to the world we live in. The people in this world hurt people, afflicted them with pain. And I don't think it's always that the pain is physical. Because what come to my understanding is that sometimes when people are hurt, someway somehow their hurt erupts and takes place... inside them.

I can't exactly explain this because I haven't yet gotten a word for it. But what I do know is that somehow this kind of pain is somewhat... more.

I think maybe once in my life I've experienced this pain, when people made fun of me because I was someone different and they had trouble understanding me so I was deemed a person unwanted. I was cast out by them. That... hurt me.

But pain in me hadn't throbbed something awful. Yes I had cried and I was hurt, but the pain I'm talking about stays with you for what feels like a lifetime before it fades.

And even faded in a way it's still there, still as sharp as the knife that it is. I think someway it leaves its scars somewhere inside you. And its true that scars fade but they would always be there. The inside pain I think is almost like a really big wound, a wound that refuses to heal and almost seems to only be there to haunt you. I don't think the pain ever goes away. And I think someway when it's faded your never really the way you were before because that wound of yours never healed, not completely anyway.

And if you were possibly strong enough to force yourself to heal then that stubborn and agonizing wound of yours left a scar in remembrance of it. Because a wound like that knows its as sharp as knives and is unwanted.

It knows it doesn't want to be remembered but it is. Because a ragged, ugly scar deep within the depths of you is something that is able to be felt. And that scar of yours it left behind never faded. And if it did it was never gone. In a way its like this inside pain was made to haunt you. It was like a leech that ate off the the good parts of you and left the bad. It crushed your whole demeanor and I'm not sure if its possible to ever find and pick up your pieces.

I've never felt this inside pain thing, not the bad kind anyway. The pain I felt didn't really leave scars. And if it did my scars faded almost to be nothing at all. It didn't change me, I think in a way it made me stronger.

I'm not so sure how that is. I think this inside pain was something deemed bitter sweet. Yes its true that the wound it cut in you seemed to bleed forever and the flow of the blood never slowed and the wound just never seemed to heal.

But it did, it may have been slow. But even a bandaid placed over the heart had to be removed someday.

I don't think wounds are meant to be permanent. Its why they leave their scars.

Yes maybe it was a bit cruel to do so, because something so agonizingly painful shouldn't be remembered at all. But I don't think wounds left their scars just so they could be remembered. I think they felt they were doing you a good deed, because in a way the jagged scars they left behind made you stronger. Maybe you could never be the person you were before, but the person you were now was a person who was hard to break, now you are strong.

I think we're supposed to get hurt, our world is painful. If it wasn't the world itself then it was us. Because I think someway somehow being hurt and in pain is apart of what makes us human. Because I think this inside pain thing is rooted from love.

I see love like a knife. But I don't think it's always that it is like this. I think like everything it has its good and bad parts.

But I won't judge it just by its bad, and the hurt and pain it causes, that wouldn't be fair. Because I think inside of everyone and everything exists a flame of darkness. Weather that flame grows or dimes depends on the person you choose to be.

Some peoples flame is barely a flame at all, so much that its almost non existent. But as for others they've given in to the cruelty of the world. Their flame isn't even a flame anymore but instead a growing fire. A fire that rages like a lion, untamable and unable to be controlled.

Somehow someway I think its easier to be this way. To be untamed. Even if it means being consumed by darkness, somehow its easier. Because in a world corrupted and afflicted with pain and evil its hard not to be too.

It hard to keep yourself pure, hard to be good when everything around you isn't.

I don't think the knife I describe love to be is always as sharp and lethal as it's claimed to be. I think like everything it has its phases. I change my mind, I don't see love as a knife, not always anyways.

Because it would be strange if it was... always I mean. Love afflicting people with this inside pain thing made sense. But at the same time it didn't. Because I've seen this love thing make people happy, they were laughing. They wouldn't have been laughing if they were wounded that just be... mad and unusual.

I think how badly your wounded and how painful your hurt is. Depends on how long and deep your love for whoever the person is.

I think the stronger the love the more lethal that knife is. The weaker the more the blade is dulled.

But I don't think it is always that love ends in madness. I don't think its always that, that knife dulled or sharp is used to puncture a agonizing wound inside you. And I don't think its always that, that wound seems to bleed forever. Sometimes I wonder, if our wounds did bleed forever then what did that make us?

Wounded souls barely living. Is that the reason why our world is the way it is? Is that why we as humans are the way we are?

I can't answer this question myself like I usually do. Because I speak of this love thing so surely,  but its definition hasn't completely come to my understanding yet.

Its phases of how it hurts people, builds them up and then make them happy again is... confusing.

Today we read Cinderella. Those girly girly stories aren't one of my liking but I couldn't just say this to Mrs. Hazel or else there was a possibility that I may hurt her feelings. And that would be mean, being mean was something I did not want to be.  And also all the girls in the class may turn on me.

And this time it may not just be calling me hurtful names and telling everyone I had cuddies. Cinderella was a story true and dear to their souls, but I think it was all a ruse. I dislike fairytales. I think they told lies.

The world created and presented in a fairytale seems... unreal. Happy worlds filled with happiness was a world that isn't our own. I think people wrote fairytales because they knew of our naiveness and gullibility. Somehow writing these stories made us believe in happy endings. And somehow believing such a thing was real blinded us from the horrid truth of the world around us. Of the cruel things people did.

I think it was wrong making us believe, cruel even. Because one day we wouldn't always be gullible and oblivious. And when we finally aren't blind, the clear vision of the world we live in would be like a crashing weight breaking something in us. The disappointment would be something so great, something so strongly felt that it almost hurt.

I don't think hurting us was Mrs, Hazels intention. I think reading us fairytales was something she had to do cause it was part of the curriculum or something like that.

But afflicting us with pain and disappointment was exactly what she was doing, maybe not right at the very moment. Because we still couldn't see. We were blinded we couldn't yet see the unwanted truth.

Reading us such a thing was slowly making us like them, burdened. Because slowly our vision was getting clearer.

And we would soon come to realize that the world created in those girly girly books was nothing but a facade, a ruse. Reading us such a thing was cruel, just like her stepmother.

Making us aware was cruel, because being aware and knowing the truth was hard. Not knowing was easier. They were making us know.

But I think not knowing was something that was impossible. If you didn't want to see the truth of the world then the world would reveal its truth to you. It was something inevitable. 

I don't think am ready to start growing yet. Not just physically but mentally, am not ready to mature. But I don't think anyone is ever asked if their ready or not. Being grown with a finally cleared vision of the world is something that came when it wanted. It didn't knock softly on your door and asked permission to come in, realization was something that didn't need to be welcomed. It just had to come in.

I think in a way nobody is ever ready to be grown. Even the grownups themselves, I don't think they were ever ready. Even now.

I've got a theory, I think humans are blind. Our vision of the world around us is blurred. Unknown, unseen.

Our vision is anything but crystal clear. Its blurry. Even when we've aged and become grown there were still somethings that are impossible to be seen.

I visited my grandparents yesterday in something that called a nursing home. But my mother just called it The home.

Old people were the only people that lived there. And these weren't just grown ups they were the grown, grown ups. They looked weird, but in a good way, these grown, grown ups fascinated me.

Their skin was all soft like cotton, even though it looked wrinkled like my shirt that my mother had forgotten to iron today.

And I liked listening to them, their words were poetic. They were one of those people that you listened to for hours unend even though what they were speaking of made no sense to you. But you just listened anyway because you liked they way they spoke, they spoke like they knew everything!! Even more than the grown ups themselves. They had lived so long and were so old that they made the grown ups seem like, like children!!

The grown, grown ups were my new best friends. They were just astonishingly cool!! Them with their sagging skin and their Shakespeare like words. They were so old and they spoke differently, I bet they lived in the time that Shakespeare lived, I bet they've even met Shakespeare in the flesh!!

Wow I wish I were old, must be some honer!! I like a lot of things about them, especially their hair. It was shiny and white, I wonder if it were made out of little crystals, their hair glistened in the sun, and crystals seemed like the only reasonable explanation.

I felt their hair it was just as soft as their skin, maybe even softer. I loved the color too!! It wasn't gray and it wasn't exactly white either, it was amazing. I wish my hair were the color of theirs. I had told my mother this and she had looked at me strangely and said that when I were old enough she would allow me to dye my hair.

And then it had been my turn to look at her strangely. I wasn't sure what dye was, I searched it up on one of their computers and it just showed me a bottles of different colors and weird caps. I had frowned at the screen, what was I suppose to do with a bottle?

My mother had told me to stop touching the grown, grown ups hair and that it was rude so I stopped touching their hair. I didn't want to be rude, it'd be rude to be rude.

My grandparents were just as old and cool as the other grown, grown ups. And let me tell you something, they talked a lot!! Way too much for my brain to comprehend a word of what they were saying. I soon became sleepy, I think I had taken a short nap between the time when my mother and my grandparents talking. My mother seemed to be listening to what they were saying and she seemed to be keeping up easily. But the weird thing with grandpa is he would seem to be talking about something so passionately but then he would stop mid-sentence forgetting what he had been speaking of completely, was that a grown, grownup thing? When we were finally leaving the home I asked my mother why this was, and she had looked down, a sad look clouding her beautiful face and said to me that he was sick. I didn't understand why she would think he were sick, he didn't seem like he had a cold.

And if he were sick why wasn't he at the doctors instead of this home place. My mother said his sickness wasn't treatable, that there was no cure and there was nothing more anyone could do except make him comfortable until the end. And him being comfortable meant being with my grandmother in a home living happily.

I had given her a weird look, I didn't tell her this incase she thought me out to be stupid even though I'm pretty sure I am but I was very confused.

What did she mean the end?

Was life simply just a race and Grandpa was coming close to the finish line? What happened then, would he get some kind of trophy or something?

I hadn't asked my mother this either, I didn't know what happened when a person reached this finish line. But I had an idea the answer was obvious. And I would seem dumb if I asked a question with an answer that was so easily known.

It isn't always all rainbows and sunshine in my world. Because thing is it's easier to live in your world despite its complications. My world isn't complicated, but somehow its harder to understand its reality because my world had nobody in it, it's just me.

It doesn't matter how wrecked and corrupted your world is because the effects of it become more heartbreaking when there is nobody there breaking with you. Nobody to relate to your sadness, your emotion, your pain, you.

It suddenly doesn't even matter how destroyed your world had become, because in a way your more than it. Your more destroyed, more wrecked, your in more pain. And theres nobody there to catch you when you've fallen. Even if there was, they won't reach out to save you from a fall that may hurt you, they were the ones who caused the pain in the first place.

In my reality people don't care. I don't think they know how. Or perhaps they find it utterly and excruciatingly hard. Not that I blame them, I don't even think their reactions of me are because I'm ugly or that I'm dumb. Perhaps the only reason is simply because in their eyes I'm seen like an alien, a stranger, someone of difference.

My personality was a personality they had no interest in knowing. Not that it was a bad one, maybe not for a reason at all. I've recently come to realize that the human race has trouble accepting diversity. They always felt the need to change people, make them into something their not. Change them to be like them, mean!

It happened again today, just like it did everyday but today it was worse. They treated me like a plate of rotten leftovers. I was cast out, thrown out like trash. Them boys took me out to the blacktop at recess and they beat me senseless, treated me as if I weren't human, as if I couldn't feel.

There words were worse today, they cut me like the knives that they were and they left me bleeding. Today my heart wasn't just simply embalmed with tiny little scars that barely hurt and faded away almost forgotten and gone forever. No, today I wasn't just hurt for a brief moment, I was wounded, wounded and bleeding.

And I wasn't just hurt on the inside it was the outside too. I would never understand what made them treat me like this, what made them so cruel.

Their words hurt more than it usually did today, perhaps cause it was more and maybe because I was more too, more frail.

They kicked me over and over even as I lay on the ground, already fallen and defeated. I cried and in between my tears I told them I was sorry for whatever it is that I had done to them. But that was the thing, I had done nothing to them. And their words had already wounded me, so much that it hurt. What more from me did they want?

They took their anger out on me, raged it in on me, so much that it almost burned.

No one was gonna feel sorry for me, not that I wanted them too, I don't want their sympathy. And their sympathy was something nonexistent because the rest of them just stood and watched as they spoke their razor words to me. They made me feel as though I were nothing, and perhaps I was nothing.

Just a mistake that couldn't be fixed. What was I supposed to do if I was born different, if I were dumb.

Do I just up and change myself just so I could please them, just so they would finally accept me? I don't know what you think of it, but I think the idea seems so ridiculous that its almost funny.

This world is funny because the people in it are ridiculous. The people in it are souls of inflamed darkness, perhaps they were the ones who were different, not I. Because I think it would be weird if something that was supposed to be considered normal was nothing good.

Coming to think of it the reality of this world was nothing good because ordinary people who aren't so ordinary have brought the darkness and made it spread.

I think of them like a disease, a bad one that wiped out what was once supposed to be a world that wasn't wretched. I think us humans are supposed to be good, but we've lost our way, become villains. Perhaps those who are bad have been affected by this disease and slowly the good in them was leaving, disappearing, gone.

We aren't just blind, we're villains too. Villains with dying souls that wounded other souls that weren't like them. Blind to what it is that we were doing, we were killers. Of our own selves and the world around us.

I could sit here and explain what I think it is to be human. But it'd be what I think, not what is. Truth is there is no explanation, and if there is nobody knows. Even the smartest scientist there is, they'll give you an answer of science.

But I think the answer is unknown simply because theres nothing there to know. Nothing to explain nothing true.

What is it that makes us, us? It seems like such a simple question but truth is it may be the most complexed one there is. Simply because an answer to this question doesn't exist, there are only theories.

But theories are just theories, thoughts thought up in the brain but never really proven to be correct.

There is a line between love and pain, I think somehow we stand in the middle of these two lines. We act as barriers, because of this these two lines of love and pain have never met face to face. Probably because they were the same thing, same being. It would make sense why they never saw each other, they have no mirror to reflect there character, their face. It's impossible for me to see myself without a mirror, impossible for anything.

I think the events in our life pushed us out of the safety of the middle. It is scary to explore and find love, because sooner or later love will grow tired of you and you'll be pushed to the line of pain.

I don't think you always have to feel love before you get pushed into the line of pain. Its not always that you have to feel love in order to get hurt because sometimes random people wounded a piece of your soul, just by their words and nothing else. And it doesn't matter if you cared for them or not your something frail, easily broken.

I think its the reason why we cry so much, because this world is afflicted with pain. Being human is painful, that much I know.

I believe its the reason baby's arrive at our world crying, because even when their eyes have not yet been opened in a way they can still see the kind of world that was outside the hospital waiting for them. In a way, they can already feel the effect of being human. They can already see the pain of this world.

I can't tell you what being human means or makes us the way we are, I think its a lot of things. Too much to all be identified and explained. And too complicated to be understood.

You go on and ask your science teacher,  and yes, I'm finally giving you permission to do so. But although am giving you permission I don't think you should. In a way some questions are better left unanswered at all.

And also I can bet you three candy bars that she'd tell you we're made of a million, quazillion cells!!

Oh, oh or maybe she'd say a gazillion and three thousand cells!! Or perhaps a billion, trillion, jillion cells.

Quadruple and for thousand cells! Billion and trazillion and guamillion cells!!!

Ok now am just making up words lol. But you get the gist. She wouldn't tell you an answer that had been thought beyond.

Perhaps her answer would be correct but theres something else that makes us other than cells. Something that has nothing to do with science. Something so complex that it suddenly makes a simple question complex, too complex to be answered at all. Or perhaps it was a question that wasn't supposed to have an answer and if it did the answer would be just as complex as the question itself, maybe even more.

Like I said before, sometimes logical explanations to complex questions didn't exist at all.

So did you go on and ask her?!! What did she say?!!

If she said what I think she said then you owe me three candy bars. And I best have them ASAP or else...

Lol no, no, no need to skip town thinking I'll be coming after you, if I don't get my candy its fine. My dentist says I've got too much cavities anyway, I'll just eat a bunch of junk food instead!!

I'm tired and I want to stop writing for the night but I don't know how this should end, tell me how I should end.

Heeelllooo? Are you still awake? I know this one was long even though it hadn't been my intention for it to be. All this jibber-jabber about what it means to be human and in the end I never even gave you an answer because I do not know.  It almost seems funny, I'd probably laugh about it if it wasn't already passed my bed time and if I wasn't so tired. 

I guess I'll end with the sincerely thing.

Sincerely, Luis, good day. Opps! I mean goodnight. But I suppose it doesn't matter because you could be reading this in the day. So... I guess good whatever then. Yeah good whatever, seems about right.

(Ps. I bet she'd say gawillizillitrillimillibillijillizillion cells!!! Lol.)

(Another P.S, I think sincerely's and P.S's are just for letters, opps! Oh well, what are you gonna do. Don't you chastise me I made an honest mistake!! Won't cut me some slack?!!! Yeesh!!! I'm only human after all.)