Isadora Garcia
Being proud is like riding a rollercoaster. On your way up, the wind makes the hair on the back of your neck come to life. You keep seeing the same view, but from higher and higher. Things get smaller as you climb. You may feel big in comparison, or you may feel a bit out of proportion. When you reach the summit, you wonder why the hell you’re there. Whose idea was it again? You consider the pain of falling from that height. Would you even survive? But the car doesn’t wait for you to process these feelings. Before you know it, you’re riding down. And the wind is so strong, it’s hard to see. You have to yield control for a moment there. It’s not up to you if you live or die anymore. Then the train breaks smoothly until it comes to a full stop at the bottom. You can feel your body again. The security bar is lifted and you hit the ground with your foot as you exit the car. You’re still a bit dizzy, it was all exceptionally fast. It seemed like much longer, though. Now you’re safe again, you gotta resume your life as if that hadn’t happened. It's odd. Really odd.
