I may only be 15, but I’ve been through so much. My parents divorced when I was four; they don’t realize that I was still old enough to remember the yelling. They’re both good people, just not for each other. My best freind died when she was 13; noone would tell me how, I’m not sure I want to know, because everytime I bring it up people look and me funny. I was supposedly set up to be married at 15 by my grandma but my mom refused, plus some other things happened between them and we don’t visit her anymore.

I don’t want the pain to be what people remember me by though. I want to be known by the joy I felt when my mom suprised me with a lava cake on my 10th birthday. I want to be remembered by the feeling of a fresh breeze blowing through long hair. I want to be remembered by my favorite plushie, by my favorite advancement in technology, that will make people scratch their heads in 500 years. I want to be known for overcoming the challenges I faced and still am facing. I want to be remembered for my creativity, stubbornness, and good intentions. I want people to trace a tree back and say, “hey that was my great-great-great-great grandma” and laugh. I want to bring people joy even after I’m gone. I want to be remembered as me and not twisted into lies.

So I decide to place five items in the time capsule . . .

1. My old diary, to show I’m more than my struggles.

2. The locket containing a picture of my mom pushing me on a tire swing, to hopefully put a smile on someones face.

3. My old school Chromebook that broke mysteriously, for that technological component.

4. My great grandpa’s war photo, to persevere his memory.

5. And lastly, my old stuffed animal, preserved in a sealed glass box.

You know what, scratch that last one, I can’t part with Fluffy.

5. And (the real) lastly, a picture of my home, with my mother, my father, and my two siblings, standing in front of it with our arms wrapped around each other. The last time I had no cares or worries. The last time I felt truly free.