I always thought the Breakfast Club was satire. People aren’t so fervently cliché.

  
Except they are. Or at least I am, and I think I can safely conclude that you are, too.
  
But Jessica, you may cry, I’m a unique and beautiful snowflake! Plus, you hate when people make assumptions about you, so why are you doing it?
  
But this isn’t an assumption; my entire world view is based off the idea of clichés. All important things are inevitably cliché. Some things in life are so significant, so human that they defy all boundaries and logic.
  
I’ll be the first person to admit I’m cliché. I enjoy thunderstorms and star speckled night skies. Snow reminds me of being childlike. I like holding hands and driving on highways at night. I fall in love easily and male attention makes me giddy and silly. I make wishes at 11:11. I think everything will work out in the end.
  
Maybe these things are cliché, and I’m OK with that. I spend a lot of time feeling weird, and not in a good way. No matter what I do, I worry if it was normal, or if people think I’m weird. I probably am. I have an intense fear of stairs. I prefer writing to talking and probably spend too much time thinking about music.  I overuse qualifiers. I think things need qualifying.  I like avocados but hate guacamole. I don’t care if drum machines have souls. I don’t like rules, ethics, or morals because they’re too inflexible. I think the Twilight books are awful.
  
Maybe these things are strange to you, and that’s OK, too. Because at heart, I’m a big, awkward, gushy cliché. But these big, awkward, gushy cliché moments remind me that yes, I am normal. Human.
  
There’s a Bob Dylan song that goes, “I’m just like you/I hope you’re satisfied.” It doesn’t matter how individualistic you are. What matters is that you’re happy with who you are, because in the end, no matter what you do or how hard you try, you’re the only person you’ll ever get to be.
  
Who is, of course, someone that’s just like everyone else.