Being me and being you

I loved the subtlety that existed in my life. I still love those blacks and grays, the extinct colors in my wardrobe. The colors gave nothing but tranquility. A kind of peace you feel when you watch rain outside your window some evening. This was my way until I heard some people say, "Damn, the female looks GOTHIC". And I had filled my cupboard with the pinks and blues which, you say, looks more like... life. When I now look at the colors in my wardrobe which have molested my preserved quietness, I feel like a clown... can't find words to describe the disgust.
Mom made an excellent cake on my 13th birthday. That particular day spent at home still gives me a sepia tinted picture flashbacks. I would sneak into the kitchen following the smell of the pie. I would wait all day to sit up on the heap of gifts at the end of the day like a playhouse queen. But somebody told me one day that I was not a kid anymore. I still get the smell of the pie but I made it a point since then that birthday was not an only mom affair. But I now miss the first bite of the cake which I used to offer mom.
Dad had planted jasmines in the garden outside our house and I used to love the rush of flower laden air inside my room so I used to keep the door of my room open. But somebody once told me that its not "teen" enough to have no privacy. Since then I moved into a place more desolate. And i know not if the jasmines still smell the same.
I used to once love Coldplay. Hearing it used to take me to a different place all together. "Just because m loosing, doesn't mean I m lost.." Everything they sang seemed like a dream to me. All I met said it was a monotonous trash. And I heard those "look at me.. m so hot" songs for so long that I eventually (don't know how but) started loving them.
Being me and being you can be a traumatic switch. I can't be a gothic female anymore but so much of me is lost behind a clown I now look like. Those apple pies and the jasmines were life for me but I always found myself in a muddle while making choices. What I liked was my choice and this choice was a borrowed likeness. But as I play the long lost Coldplay track I find the little me still surviving.