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I am a Wimp
I am sitting alone on the "N" train. I am in my usual spot: back car, second floor, first window seat. It is cold inside. It is wet outside. I'm tired. My thoughts are playing themselves out in-between the lyrics on my walk-man. For Friday, I am mellow. The two sides of my personality are trying to communicate, and I have decided to simply sit down and listen to the conversation.
My weekday self goes to high school in Manhattan. I am often tired and try simply to get through the day. I usually do not have fun during the week. I like my friends, but there is no time to have a good time together. I feel inadequate at my high school. Many students do just as much work as I do and make it look easy. My "week" self is often frustrated.
In comparison, my weekend self is rested and happy. I leisurely groom myself in the morning. My weekend friends are impressed that I travel so far to get to school. They are impressed that I get good grades. But overall they are impressed that I am allowed to leave for lunch and that I actually go back to classes. My weekend self buys into the hype, and is very proud.
I realize part of the equation is location. My weekday self spends its days on Madison Avenue, while my weekend self spends its days in Queens. Even though I have lived my entire life in this neighborhood I have always felt a little out of place. It's a tough neighborhood and I'm not afraid to say I am a wimp. I enjoy the freedoms of the Upper East Side. The only attitude I receive is from rich women who wish teenagers would stop crowding their streets and talking too loudly. If I give someone a look, I am not afraid they are going to follow me or "jump" me. The kids in my neighborhood rarely finish school. Most go to an alternative high school or get their G.E.D. after dropping out. They eventually get decent jobs, but few receive college educations. In the end, few adults in my neighborhood enjoy their jobs. I fear this will happen to most of my weekend friends.
Location also affects my identity in other ways.
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