Destination

I found this on Mon's blogspot, it was written by our good friend Elyza. I can't really explain the feeling i got when i read this, all i know is that it's so beautiful, and so true.



We can lie to ourselves sometimes becaues we want to believe the better thing. But no matter what, the truth hurts, the truth freaking hurts. Its easy to lie nowadays, with all the make up and pretty smiles we put on. If having things out the way you wanted them to is a measure of a succesful life, then some would say I'm a failure. The important thing is not to be bitter over life's disappointments. Learn to let go of the past.. and recognise that everyday won't be sunny. And when you find yourself lost in the darkness of despair, remember that its only in the black night that you can see the stars, & those stars will lead you back home. So don't be afraid to stumble and fall.. because most of the time the greatest rewards come from doing the things that scare you the most. Maybe you'll get everything you've wished for... Maybe you'll get more than you could have imagined..Who knows where life will take you? The road is long and in the end, the journey is the destination.

All I Want for Christmas

It's funny how as you get older, the less magic you see around you. A child can concoct a whole world with just a little imagination, and an adult? An adult refuses to see something beyond it's material.

I remember how psyched I used to be about Christmas. It was Christmas! A magical season of happiness and presents, of course. I even made my sister bake a batch of cookies and lay them out on the coffee table for Santa, of course I wouldn't let her get all the credit from Santa, so I sloppily poured a glass of milk, most of it hit the floor instead of the glass, but that didn't matter. I stayed up as late as I could, trying to disguise myself behind the staircase banisters so Santa wouldn't see me, ocassionally I got peckish and stole a cookie from the plate, I thought my family would think Santa had eaten all of them so it didn't make a difference right? I think the left the plate with 1 cookie by the end of the night.

I know I got tired waiting for Santa, and my mother constantly telling me he wouldn't show up if I waited for him, so the fear of no presents on Christmas was enough to drive me to bed in a flash.

The next day, the little school socks I had hung up by the window were filled with chocolate and candy, I jumped up on my bed and screamed "Santa came last night!", all our socks were filled to the brim, and the Christmas Tree was bombarded with gifts.

The festive spirit was so strong in those days, making everything seem so much more joyous and.. enchanting. Today, Christmas doesn't feel like the most magical time of year, it feels like another hassle of getting gifts for everyone and spending all your money.

So Santa, all I'm asking for is a little enchantment this Christmas Season. Make it a memorable one, Please?

Inspire me, Please?

photo by jam343

These writing spells come and go. Sometimes they overwhelm me, like a river bursting its banks and flooding the field, drowning the little villagers and destroying homes with beautiful yet grotesque ideas. Other times, it doesn't come. I wait. And wait. And wait for this drought to end, for a single drop of rain, acidic or not, to fall into my mind. Today, there's nothing.

Image from Chrissie White

Won't you help? Be the one to hose me down with the water I desperately need. I'm begging you. Inspire me, Please?

Cheap Cigarettes & Wine- All we need for a good time.

A dark bar. Dim lights. Minimal conversation.

Smoke wafts in midair, moving around in wisps, embedding itself into your clothes. You look up, and eye the mysterious stranger in the corner. Shoulders slumped over, his strong jaws unshaven. Raw; Manly. The scarce amount of light casts shadows upon the room, highlights the straight bridge of his nose, hidesthe rest of his face. There's an untouched bottle of beer on his table, and a cigarette in his hand. He's looking out the window, into the midnight sky and dirty snow lining the sidewalks. He's thinking deeply, or maybe not at all. You wonder what he's like, what makes him who he is. You want to walk over, you want to know him, but you don't want to interrupt his beautiful isolation.

Bittersweet Goodbye #2: Worse than Murder.

I started off as nothing. A simple cell. And now? I'm not fully formed, but I'll get there. I'll be a new life. Honestly, I'm excited. I'm gonna see the world. I'm gonna feel my mother; her kiss, her touch, her love.
I'm gonna be real.

I'm nuzzled against the damp warmth of her womb, my mother. I hear her soft sobs, muffled, but still present, and I wonder what's hurting her. I want to stop her tears, I want to be the reason of her joy, the subject of unconditional love.
She holds me, or tries to. I feel her thin, shaking hand resting on her stomach, saying words in her soothing voice, but I still hear her pain. She hasn't moved in a while, I feel her legs crossed beneath me, her hands constantly stroking her stomach, lulling me into sleep. I want to see her face, see what she looks like. It'll be like looking at a future me. I just want to make her proud.
Make sure she never regrets me.

What's happening? Light seeps through my little home... Is it time? No, it cant be. It's too soon. I'm still ugly; skin unformed, eye's like lizards: Black and lidless. So what's happening? I feel a slash at my feet, something sharp, hooked. It thrashes around, trying to get me. At first it misses me, and hooks onto mommy's flesh, but then it gets me, cutting my pink stomach open, pulling me down. Mommy? What's happening? It's not my time yet, why am I being ripped from you? The tugs get harder, like all guilt has been forgotten.
I am exposed.
My little legs now outside of her, the rest of me catching up. No, mommy, don't do it.

I cling onto the cords and flesh around me, her sobs are now groans and yells. Mommy, stop hurting yourself, stop hurting me. She doesn't stop, she keeps pulling. I'm sliding out, but I'm still holding on.

I think I'm hurting her.

I claw at her womb, grip onto any thing within reach, but I'm no match for her determined, hateful tugs.

I thought she loved me, and as she pulled me out entirely, I realised I was wrong. I looked at her for the first and last time, took in her tear-drenched, brown eyes, her thin lips, and every strand of hair on her head. It was the only image I'd end up seeing, the feature we should have shared. I looked at her, not understanding, but realising, I was so wrong.

-----------------------------------------

I started off so innocent, but then I met boys. They do that: rip your innocence up into shreds.

It's like a black and white movie, except for the blood. That's crimson, nothing but crimson. My blood. It's so unreal in the clean bathroom, there's more of it than I imagined. My hands won't stop shaking, my body's so sore. It's gone, the body. It was small enough to disguise in the trash, so I put it in a plastic bag, along with the hanger. I can't get the way it looked at me out of my head. Like it had just felt the worst betrayal possible; like it's world, hopes, dreams, fears, had come crashing down on it's fragile little soul. But it was hardly alive, so that's my imagination, right? Its eyes cant be open yet, right? Right? It wouldn't know anything. Nothing at all. I want to sit here forever, in this moment of relief, like after the great flood, when all the colours come out, I want time to stop, for me. But I know I should really get cleaned up before my parents get back home, if they knew what i'd done, it'd be worse than them finding out I was pregnant.

I didn't think it'd be so hard, seeing as I never knew the thing, but i think it was the hardest choice I've ever had to make; I didn't want to regret it. And I think I did the right thing. But if i did, then why am I crying so much?

Forgotten Fairytales 2: Sleeping Beauty.

Here she lies; Aurora. Skin changed from a peachy glow to a somewhat greenish tint. Her blood no longer flows beneath it. She was fine one, that Aurora. Her touch as soft as velvet, her voice trickled as sweet as the warmest honey.
Her mother's death during childbirth marked her as a curse, a demon beneath her household. No wonder she suffers from "Eternal Sleep", she has no reason to go on living. Made immortal in fairytales, they always seem to forget to include the bottle of Valium.
The entire bottle of Valium, found empty at the crime scene, found rushing through her blood.

The Lies I weave are, Oh, so Intricate.

Hey, I've been up at the province recently, All Saints Day thingger, so I apologize for the lack of updates. Anyway, I wrote quite a bit while I was up there, so I'm just gonna display them in one post. Comment, loves. :)

27. 10.08

Lethargy;

like a rope,

constrains.

My head so still,

my mind set loose,

fighting to break free.

Desperate to escape

the boredom

I've been tied to.

I plan,

strategize.

Work with what I've got.

I leash my desperation

and tame it to a wander.

Frolic amongst items of

the past.

And feel somewhat satisfied.

Scent of Thai cuisine,

wafts through these hallways,

sparking my memory

of blue skies splashed overhead,

of salt water smacking your lips,

of coconut tanning on glazed on skin,

and tropical cocktails by the pool.

28. 10.08

Left modern suburbia

for a few days.

Find myself back

to simpler times.

hedonistic lifestyles.

Maybe this is what I need?

Maybe spending time

among people with no purpose

will help me see the bigger picture?

Floating through unknown existence

dragging myself onwards,

my hands grip at the surrounding void,

searching for some kind of foothold.

Desperate to grasp the reality

resting right before my eyes

like a strand of long-lost memory

lingering at the back of my mind

fight to take a breath I don't need

yearn to uncover what it is

that's missing

feels so close, but out of reach.

You had your whole future carefully planned and assembled, and you were so proud of it. It was like a priceless ornament you held up for us to marvel at, and we did. I was so proud of you, you had direction. You had so much going for you. That's why I constantly hope you know I never intended to shatter those dreams. I would never do that to you, you know that right? I can't stop thinking about my betrayal, what I did. I can't move on from it. And I wont, until I know you forgive me. So please, give me any Heaven-sent sign.

29.10.08

Have I lost myself? Have I forgotten who I am? Am I just a shell, held upright by mannerisms? Where have I gone? Where is the purpose that once so surely kept me striding, head held high, heart on sleeve, opinions out in the open?

Where is the once strong girl who carried her world on her shoulders? All that seems to remain are her bones, her world nowhere in sight.

Help me find myself. Give me a reason to carry on.

NOVEMBER 3, TODAY.

Can't remember the last time

I felt so withered,

so emotionally drained.

As if it took all my strength

to stop myself from telling her

how violated I felt.

It's not the shock,

not the paranoia,

that was expected,

obviously.

I'm not raging,

more like in disbelief,

I feel shook.

As if somebody intruded my mind and discovered my thoughts.

Happy Birthday, Best Friend!

SHOUTOUT TO MY BESTEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD:

"I remember you like yesterday, like yesterday"

I've known you for 10 years, can you believe it? 10 years. That's a decade. Best friends for a decade, and we haven't even actually fought. I wanted to write this because this is my online address, it's where I write everything, it's like the home of my emotions. So, best friend, what can I say? Add another notch to your bedpost, we're making it.


You know, you're probably the only person who can make me feel on top of the world when I've been stepped all over, make me feel like a fairly decent person when I've done something terrible, make me feel gorgeous in my moments of insecurity. I know i can always go to you for anything, because you never judge anyone, and your advice is always realistic and it actually makes sense.

I remember all those retarded moments, like Totally Spies ;) and our mini-cake fight, and when our umbrellas got caught in thorns. Remember Mrs. Yu-Yo's, and our Why Not dance? All those practices at my house. Camp in Malacca, our home-made videos, Camp in Summerset, when we were pretending to be Lewis and laughing like hell because of the words we used. I also remember this one time, we had Pet Day, and we both sat behind some random persons hamsters and pretended they were our own :P And when we used to go onto the field to try and catch dragon flies. Remember cheerleading? OH GOD, what a catastrophe. Well, we're growing up now, and I know we've had differences, but that's the only thing constant in life; Change.

I miss you so much, while you're off in your schmancy-fancy, London-Boarding-school, playing tennis and enjoying the.. rain? I'm in my Filipino Catholic school, reading the Bible and building houses for the poor [oh yeah, heaven here I come!] KIDDING =D but you get me:

We're worlds apart.
That doesn't seem to change things, though, we're still close, `cause 10 years of friendship is no match for the thousands of KM between us.

Love you, Bloo. Have a happy Birthday :)

Feel your heart beat in and out of time.

Hovering on the edge
of newly found depression
teetering too close
to the endless pit
a haze of blue
slithers into my mind

Impromptu threats,
tainted with anger
and lust for excitement
I'm afraid.

The sadness, fear,
fills me up
til i explode
into tears

fat, salty droplets
of misery
coming more frequently
this is like the last time
a place I dont
want to revisit

empty existence,
a feeling im new to
no purpose, no meaning,
to my days.

i feel the urge
to try and cut,
seek answers in
a metal blade

Counting down
the days til
I can
escape.

Red carpet, Rose bouquets, Crowd waiting backstage.

Yesterday, I watched High School Musical 3, I'm not a fan of the series, but I enjoyed bits and pieces of it. My favourite part, however, was definitely Ryan & Sharpay's duet in the canteen. It added sparkle to the film, what with the Broadway-ish choreography and props such as the pink-haired vixens and Statue of Liberty replica. Sharpay's character reminds me a bit of the miniature diva within each and every one of us girls, the one which wants the world in the palm of her hand, the one who would love to have die-hard fans situated all over the world. The one who has a little theme song in her head which simply exclaims ego centrism and self-love. I have that diva within me, the one that wants to be a Broadway/Theatre triple-threat. How can I not, I love acting. And every actress is a little bit of a Drama Queen. But you don't have to love acting to want fans across the world: Tokyo, Moscow, Bollywood! All of us idealize that kind of life, fame and fortune, our names immortalized on Hollywood Boulevard, being called out to receive our awards on-stage, a lit star on our doors. Why do we want this? Simple. To break free from our mind-numbingly normal lives.
I want the world, nothing less, all the glam and the press, I want it all ;)

20.10.08

Last night, I wrote a passage.
Around 600 words, about 3 emotions:
Despair, Worry & Fear.
True feelings about a recent event.
And last night, that passage was unintentionally destroyed.

Now I wont be able to get the words back,
or that moment of emotion.

---
I remember when I first met him, I felt some sort of connection. Like we were two travelers in a world unknown, a world we were new in. We were different and alike in so many ways. But it wasn't just me, he sparked this connection with everyone, he was on the same level as the kids below us, and on the same level as the teachers above us, all at the same time.

The day of revelation came, I was surprised to find out I was not one of the chosen few who knew before the curtain dropped. Maybe I saw our friendship as more than it really was, maybe I made myself feel too close because of our similarities, maybe.

I didn't like the way she had made it sound so final, as if there was nothing anyone could do. I always chose to believe in hope, in that slim chance of the unlikely actually happening, in miracles.

But the day came, it actually came. And the hope I held onto so tightly faltered, withered in my hands, slipped through my fingers. I suddenly felt so much fear for what was going to happen, and my tears fell straight to the floor, not even bothering to rest on my cheeks.

If my Guinea Pig could speak, what would she say she has seen?

As ridiculous as it may sound, the objective of this essay is for me to explain what my guinea pig would say she’s seen, if she could talk. I asked Monisha to give me this task because, sadly, I feel as if my intelligence is slowly descending. Anyway, I wouldn’t be able to explain what exactly my guinea pig would say, but how I think she would react to the different things that meet her eyes.

In my opinion, she would be eating her words trying to explain all the colours and imagery she’s been experiencing in our urban residence. Unlike her ancestors, she doesn’t live in burrows or mountains, doesn’t experience the common predator, and doesn’t know what it’s like to see members of her colony ripped to shreds by those predators. She has, however, seen me naked.

Placed right outside my bedroom, only separated by a floor-to-ceiling glass window, she has inevitably witnessed me leaving the shower, water drops running down my bare back, and my hair lying tousled wet and tangled. She knows every scar, every stretch of skin, where there’s not enough meat, and where there’s too much. She knows the rawest parts of me; she has seen what even the sun has not.

Of course, she has seen other things, but how can things like the colour of the sky, sapphire blue speckled white, compensate with the image of a life-form, so different from one’s own, in its moment of truth? It can’t. And that’s what I think my guinea pig would talk about first, if only she could.

Inspiration Boards.

This is my cork board. It's not that big, in fact, it's pretty small.
It's pretty cramped, but that's what you get when you combine a small cork board and a big dreamer; You lose space.

I never fail to find things I can put on it, whether it be a photo, or a piece of fabric, or simply, a shade of a certain colour. Anything that sparks hope, or nostalgia.

My friends are on that cork board, the one's I don't see everyday, the one's I miss the most.
Sayings are on that cork board. Some appearing meaningless, but I'm weird like that: my eye can meet the plainest thing, but my mind can unravel a world unknown.

Cards are on that cork board, some question objective reality and provide no answers, some remind me of my favourite things, some simply teach me.

I'm on that cork board; my past, my dreams, my loves, and my thoughts: Me.

Rapunzel

Here she lies, after years of isolation, she finally dies.
Her golden hair neatly braided and coiled alongside her.

An unfortunate twist of fate as a child, sold to a witch for some lettuce. Did her parents not care at all? She often wondered, as she stared out her tower, if her parents ever wept over the mistake they had made, if they had ever wondered how she was doing, if they ever imagined the colour of her hair or eyes. If they even allowed themselves to think of her.

The adoptive mother was crazy, locked her in a tower "away from all the world's evil", she didn't realize she was ruining Rapunzel, taking her away from the very things she needed, and chaining her to brick walls high above society. She didn't want to become part of a fairytale told to little children; she wanted to dwell among them.

There was some happiness, though, there was the prince. Handsome, he was. But all good men die a good death; He was stabbed to a pulp by the witch, he was considered one of the world's evils. He was her only guest aside from the witch, but after some time, the witch stopped visiting, too. Then she had no one. Rapunzel learned to feed off the birds hovering around her tower, learned to enjoy them raw: Blood, guts and all.

Eventually, she aged. Her hair withered but remained golden, always golden. Her skin cracked, yellowed like paper, her teeth dropped out, one by one, and the colour of her eyes faded, pigment by pigment.

Here she lies, Rapunzel, a forgotten maiden who lived high above society, away from the world's evil.

Kiss the way we were goodbye; Goodbye & Farewell.

I miss Malaysia.

I really miss it. I miss the people, opinionated and care-free. People who didn't get mad, people who knew how to laugh and cry at the appropriate times. I miss the friends I grew up with, the places I drove by everyday. I miss small things, like how the sun rose and set and reasonable hours. I miss how you could hear children playing outside at twilight. I miss how I looked forward to my days, I miss going for a swim whenever I wanted, and going out at random times. No need for prior notice, no need for prior permission.

I witnessed, once again, how much I'm missing out. How I'm no longer a part of what I used to be part of. How I'm out of the picture. For someone who has been in the picture for so long, I'm not used to this. Maybe it's selfish, maybe it's fair. I don't know. All I know is that I'm no longer there.

The moon is the only light we'll see.

Light spills into her half-open eyes. She's waking from sleep, the medication wears off and she's brought back to consciousness; such a grim place. She doesn't take in her surroundings just yet, but it won't be long until she does, and then she'll kick and scream and cry, and our hearts will break and we won't understand why we perform this ritual, but we won't stop.

Her arms are raw and specking blood; friction caused by the ropes used to hold her down. They wind up until her elbow, one wrong pull could yank her bones out of their sockets. Her arms are spread wide, feet pulled apart. She resembles a star, a fallen star, lying upon a stone circle, limbs tied to pillars. The red satin draped around her makes no difference, not enhancing anything but for her decency. Another square of fabric is pinned to the wall, among the hundreds of others. She is just another little girl used for the tradition. She is no different.

The rest of the people like me stand by their stations. Masked and solemn, they are too used to the tradition to be appalled. They know it is a requirement of the ancient prophecy, one girl each year. The same time, the same date. One girl, that's all it needs. Just one girl, and ten members of the order. Members who are too numbed by death to be afraid of it. Members willing to kill young girls. Members like me.

She tries to sit up, but the ropes hold her back. She whimpers and calls for her mother. We move closer towards her, saying our chants, holding our candles. It's my turn to hold the knife; my turn to complete the ritual. The four members beside the pillars start their work, they pull on the ropes.

The girl screams right on cue, her limbs stretch outwards, the gripping ropes pull them apart, breaking them, joint by joint. Each cracking sound is amplified, each bone dislocation is magnified. Her shrieks don't fade, they get louder. Her tears don't stop, they come faster.

Her arms and legs have finally broken apart from her body, this is where I come in. I raise the dagger above her, it doesn't matter anymore, her screams died out, the tears stopped flowing. Her eyes are still open, black pupils stare at me, asking me how I could commit myself to such an Order.

I hate her for making me question my devotion.

Plastic flowers never fade, but we all turn to grey.

The interrogator's beard hasn't been shaved, a few days at the most. His eye bags droop, layered skin pulled downwards. The white of his eyes yellowed with age, the nerves are like red rivers which stretch into nothing. He asks me different questions, absurd ones. I have no idea what he's talking about.

We know you did it, your fingerprints were all over the scene, all we want to know is why. So let's cut the crap and get it out, shall we?

I deny any knowledge of the situation, the guy get's mad. A vein throbs on his forehead, purple and pulsating. It bothers me.

What exactly did I "do"?

I think you know well enough, mister. Why don't you admit it, ey? Just spill it. Tell us how you murdered that innocent, pregnant woman. Tell us how you slaughtered her daughter and mutilated her husband, go on. Entertain us.

I would never do that.

At least, I don't remember it. The fingerprints match mine, or so they say. But i don't remember anything. Nothing at all. I can't be a murderer. I'm not crazy, I'm not tormented, not a broken soul. It's not possible. I had a good upbringing. Well, okay, a few mishaps here and there. But an abusive, murderous father and a sick, twisted sister shouldn't affect me. They're the ones who should be interrogated, not I.

They've kept me in here for a while, it's hard to keep track of time when you're confined in the same space, it's as if there is no time. It's like the world outside has frozen, and all that exists is this little room, with the big mirror, steel furniture, this man and I.

_________________

I awake from slumber, such spare moments taste so sweet. My body aches, as if I have undergone a tedious activity. I can't lift myself up to see my surroundings. But I know I haven't left the steel room. The interrogator is no longer pacing around the room or pounding his fists, no longer threatening me, no longer accusing me. He is lying on the floor beside me. Stretched out in a pool of blood. He looks peaceful, as if it's the first rest he's had in years. The blood seeps through his clothing, I notice his face is bruised, so are his hands. He must have struggled to the death.

I wonder how that happened.

If I'm not back this time tomorrow, Carry on, Carry on.

The following passage is a true story, it's not a call for pity, it's just how I release my emotions. These are the thoughts that raced through my mind, these are the words I felt.

The nurses hands were a shade lighter on the colour scale. The sun could not reach them where she was, they were hidden beneath rubber gloves, a necessity to keep blood and other unwanted substances off her skin; they were foreign, they were dirty.

Was that why they were lacking colour? Or was it possibly because of nights spent scrubbing her hands in her kitchen sink, bottle of bleach turned over beside her, rag in her hands; scrubbing until the skin peeled off, doing anything to get the stains of depression off of her fingers, to give her a new slate, clean of all the imperfections of hospital work, clean of the misery, clean of the guilt that came along with being unable to save people.

I notice her hands, of all things, as I wait, unwilling to look past the green curtain that separates my father from the rest of the world, as if too keep away disease and terror. It's not working, never will. Privacy? With screams coming from behind those curtains, there's no such thing. A man walks over to mop up the blood on the floor, my fathers mess. He moans words indistinguishable to my ears, cries for his mommy. A little girl from across the room cries for her mommy, too, and her little brother calms her down, telling her its over and there's no need to cry.

I wish somebody would tell me such sweet words.

I'm driving out of control; getting ready to crash.

We blow out the last light in hopes of darkness. But we never find total darkness because our eyes always eventually manage to adjust. Any form of light seeping through illuminates in even the darkest room. We end up seeing, eliminating the point of blowing out the light. Yet we still blow it out, because a dim figure in the dark is better than seeing the complete image in the light.

Are you ever driven to do something so out of the ordinary, you don't even know why you want to do it? Why does the teenage mind push the body so far, sugar-coating every sinful intention, making it actually consider the temptation? It feels like I had a clearer mind at 10 years old than I have now, I don't know why am I interested in experimenting when I know the consequences to these things. One of life's tests and trials, perhaps. "Push the teenagers into such temptation so that their lives become even more complicated than their dramatic confusion".

Nobody knows how deep the water is, until they tread too far.

We all have people in our lives, masked and armed, ready to bring us down. Sometimes they appear harmless, hurting you in small ways, like insensitive comments or actions, possibly unintentional, possibly intentional. Then there are those who go out of their way to ruin you, trying to break you into little pieces, beyond repair. In hopes of what, exactly? Nobody can fully understand the minds of the delirious. But you know better than to break, right? We know that the whole world is waiting for the first tear to fall, and we know not to give them that satisfaction.

My mom told me to.

If anybody ever dares steal material from my blog, I will hunt you down and slit your throat.

Okay not really, but my dad's into a law and I have friends who's fathers are lawyers and they know mannyyy BAD, BAD, people. And stealing from here is a CRIME, because from now on, EVERYTHING I WRITE/HAVE WRITTEN IS COPYRIGHTED! [except for the snazzy quotes and lyrics, but you get my drill ;)]

So don't break the law.
`Cept when it comes to limewire.

Gay Friend-- WANTED.

What makes it feel?

Capture the essence of your being?

What makes it good?

A concrete form of an immaterial language;

Emotion

What makes its capable?

Of translating warmth

From the heart

Or the chill of fear;

Emotion

How do you transform, when

The strongest weapon

Only scars the paper

With ink and

Emotion?

How do you write poetry?

BFOSJGNEOUGNKDS.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is Joanna getting frustrated because she can't write poetry. I mean, come on, how do you do it, people?! How do you transform your emotion into such meaningful (and pretty) words?! My emotions always seem so much more intricate when they're untouched. Put them onto paper and they become overrated or cheesy :|

Anyway, wanted to apologize to my lovely blog-band [thats a neat name for the people that actually read this crap, kinda has a ring to it, hey?] for not posting anything recently. I swear, inspiration is at its peak during summer. When you're doing nothing but sitting on a computer chair all day and possibly forming an early case of sclerosis. [That's the back thingy, right? correct me if im wrong]

So yeah, I havent been having a good week, something's come up and no, i'm not gonna tell you what happened here, just email me if you consider yourself cool enough to be told :D IT'S JUICY, PROMISE.

You know what I want? A gay friend. I've been going on about this for so long, and I'm serious! I want one! One that I can look cool beside when we go to Starbucks with one or two other girlfriends and sip or macchiatos, or on frap's, or whatever the hell people like to drink at starbucks. OHH and it'd be soo wicked if he could tell me what I look hot in and not, in a totally non-uncomfortable way, you know, like in the movies? "ehh ma gawd, you look SO fetch." and I'd be all like "Oh my god, nobody says fetch. But i do, don't I? ooh mwah mwah mwah" and we'd get manicures and maybe get a little dog and carry him around everywhere! Okay, Im getting all excited! So all GAY, HYGIENIC, FASHIONABLE, FUNNY AND CHARMING GUYS, CALL ME. We'll arrange something. :)

I'm putting that on my birthday wishlist. Or Christmas, birthday's too far :)

Okay byee for now!

xx

Midnight in December.

She spun in circles, white wedding gown trailing around her. It was her mothers, layers of lace dragged along the ground, it used to be white, but now, cream with age.

She trotted along the stone floor, too-big high heels making her stumble, she had loved them from the moment she cast her beady eyes upon them, the hand-painted flowers she strung her fingers along every night, the sound they made as the clinked across the stone.

Her nose wrinkled as she laughed, her little teeth were visible in the moonlight. The stars seemed to shine brighter for her on this evening, even the moon covered up its craters.

The silver light washed over every surface, softening every strong image. The night breeze ran through the trees, playing with her hair, cooling her face. The crickets and frogs played a melodious symphony for her, every sound on beat, every echo on cue.

The lake reflected a perfect night sky, a million stars held in one basin of water, illuminating the weeds and grass among the basin's brim. The moon, solo in her abode, was not accompanied by a single cloud, unveiled and exposed.

Midnight in December, a truly dazzling sight to behold.

&& She said, It's not a good enough reason.

I give up. White flag, yet i don't expect you to consider. I don't expect you to care because you're too high up in your head. I apologized, I did my part. The fact you pushed me away, fine. But don't reject my apology just because you think I should apologize to others, this is YOU. Not them.

It's too difficult, it's not even worth it anymore. If you don't value our friendship, fine. You don't want to talk to me, so I'll just post my feelings up here. Maybe the reason I've been cold is because you're changing. Maybe its because you're becoming like the very people who leave us all so out of place? Maybe it's because I don't know you anymore, and don't say I don't treat you like a friend outside of the classroom, remember that I have friends in other sections who I don't get to see very often, my time can't always be sprinkled on you. And sweetie, I'm not the only one who has noticed you haven't been spending lunch with us, so please don't blame this on me.

As for not saying hi to you, accidents happen. I didn't see you and I only found out about that today. I didn't know you ran past saying hi, otherwise I would've said hi back. Do I have a reason to not say hi to you? I don't think so. Unless you think I'm that shallow, I only say hi to certain people and I have something against you. Well, you need to be more open-minded.

So who's left standing in this empty war-zone? You.
I raised my white flag and walked out a long time ago.

Summer came like cinnamon, so sweet.

The breeze caressed my cheeks, tossed my hair around and cooled my skin.

The smell of chlorine lingered in the air, the sudden familiarity yanked at my memory, for a few moments, it brought me back to the place i had been longing to go for so long, the place i could only return to in my memory.

Those days where ignorance was bliss, and my young mind could not understand what was going on beneath our roof, going on in the early hours of our household.

I remember that very day, two of my closest childhood friends were with me inside that little kiddy blow-up pool. It's amazing what wonders a child's imagination can create.

I could practically feel that same sun that once illuminated my little face, I could still remember the texture of the plastic i rested my head upon, the temperature of the water we splashed in, and the joy i felt just playing in that little tub, the joy that felt so pure, i had all the joy in the world, mustered by an 8 year old, in a little kiddy blow-up pool, with just 2 loved ones and a child's imagination.

:)

Rant.

Okay, I'm pretty pissed of right now so let me rant, no fancy words, nothing articulate, just a rant. Let the feelings express themselves in their natural form, let them be raw.

FUCK YOU.

You and your stupid desperateness, I swear it's really degrading to be the ex of a flirt. Someone who ALWAYS has a girl, and who moves on in the blink of an eye. It's so stupid cause I DONT EVEN MISS YOU, SO WHY THE HELL DO I CARE? Maybe cause i dont want to be a fool, this is fucking ridiculous, I feel so disrespected it's not even funny, maybe you could've waited a while before getting interested in another girl, God! What the hell, seriously! I mean, it's not that you are interested in a new girl, its just how FAST it took you!! Please, don't deny you aren't interested, why the hell else would you text for two days straight? There's a reason your family teases you. And yeah, okay, we're close so you can tell me things, but there's a LINE as too how much you can say and how soon you say it you insensitive jerk!
God, ever since I've met you, you've ALWAYS had a girl. In fact, didn't you say you liked one of my friends (right after we stopped whatever relationship we had) because it was TOO HARD TO GET OVER ME BY YOURSELF? SEE, THIS JUST PROVES HOW DEPENDENT YOU ARE. Get over someone the right way, time heals all wounds right? What do you think is gonna happen when you just decide to go in for another girl (who, may I add had a thing with one of our friends and "loved" another guy at the same time :|), it's gonna be all peaches and cream? HOW DO YOU THINK SHE WOULD FEEL IF SHE KNEW EVERYTHING? "Oh, you were interested in me although you still missed your girlfriend and couldn't get over her. Doesn't that mean i'm kinda like a doormat?" NO SHIT IT DOES.
Urgh, I will probably regret posting most of this as soon as a few people read it, but I mean, I'm not asking for your feedback or for you to read this. I guess I just dont want to be around you for a bit. Space, right? I never gave us space in the first place, that was obviously a mistake. Well no matter what you say, about you not being over me, it's pretty evident that you are, at least it seems like it, and if you really are telling the truth then WHY THE HELL ARE YOU DEVELOPING A RELATIONSHIP WITH ANOTHER GIRL?! And don't say you aren't, a relationship doesnt necessarily have to be all those "I love you"'s and mushy crap, it can be a friendship, or like.. a relatioship between a dog and it's owner, i guess.
I don't know why people say Dog and Master. It sounds too degrading to dogs, they're owned but they're not little slaves.
anyways, dinner.

We can close the curtains and pretend that it's the weekend.

Make a wish, place it in your heart.
Anything you want, everything you want.
Do you have it? Good.
Now believe it can come true.
You never know where the next miracle is gonna come from,
where the next smile, where the next wish can come true,
but if you believe that it's right around the corner,
and you open your heart and mind
at the possibility of it,
to the certainty of it,
you just might get the thing you're wishing for.
The world is full of magic,
you just have to believe in it.

- OTH.

Isn't it weird how we all load ourselves with endless responsibilities? We take on more than we can manage, we try handle things beyond our control, we give ourselves excuses about why we can't do certain things we want to. When really, we can do anything we want.

Why do we do this? Is it to give us an excuse to feel proud of ourselves? Or to feel important? It's like we need infinite troubles and things to do in order to feel a sense of accomplishment.

Why not act like a kid and do foolish things? We give all these excuses about having too much to do, how it's inappropriate or how we just can't because we're too busy with other things.

Anyone can be young, everyone has the right to be young.
Especially when you are, after all, young.

I need attention to confirm my own presence.

I trail along the shores and watch the water, the foamy waves playing with my toes, a nonsensical game of tag. The sunset so brilliant in the sapphire sky, the clouds scattered across this endless roof over my head, a cushion for the stars if the milky way were to collapse, landing onto those wisps of comfort, showering me with a million lights.

I walk along the city and stare at the neon and chrome, the bright lights look so inviting from a distance, but so impersonal up close. The tall buildings intimidate those who are not familiar, but is just a reminder of home for those who are. No stars here, just the artificial light clogging up the skyline. No clouds in sight, just a black stretch of mass over my head.

Standing here, on this beach, in this city.

Are the footsteps in the sand evidence of my existence?
That I can be here, that I am here? That I breathe and feel?
Are we considered alive if the rest of the world passes by without even noticing us?
Do we still exist if we have no purpose to anyone, if we have no purpose for ourselves?
What makes us present? What makes us exist?

Not life, certainly. But belonging.

Take a hold of me.

The insanity was taking over her.
Only wanting her way, she cried at the fact there was nothing she could do.
She cried at the fact she was stuck.

There was no more joy in her life, no more reason to keep going. She wanted to leave, wanted to run away to a foreign country and marry a man who was not her current husband.
But she couldn't.

She was being held back by a force stronger than her own desperateness. She couldn't leave her daughters, and no matter how sick she was of her husband, she couldn't leave him either. This feeling had been taking over her for along time, she used to think that as the kids grew older, the less dependent they would become, and then she would be able to leave. It was true about her kids, but it was the opposite for her husband. He clung to her like a child refusing to let go of his hasty mothers hand.

It was true, she was stuck.

In violence, we are not ourselves.

I spend a few last moments among my old things. The musty attic smells sweet, like the scent of my mother when I was a child. I remember how I used to cling to her and make sure she gave me a kiss goodbye before she went anywhere. Her perfume wafting and weaving itself into my memory. The only thing I have left of her is her scent and I actually don't even have it. It just comes upon me when it chooses, like a tiger threatening its prey with its impromptu appearances, leaving the latter living forever timidly in the shadows.

The guilt haunts each day and the regret is just another part of me. I've accustomed myself to them, they are simply two uninvited guests crashing the party, I must have done something to deserve them and I know exactly what it was.

My mother is gone, stolen away from me forever. It's something I have to face each day, but the tears haven't stopped rushing to my eyes. We were close, mother-daughter talks, bonding time, advice and hugs, we had the whole package. It didn't take long for her and my father to realise that there was something wrong, it was evident in the vomiting, the fainting, the pain. She finally agreed to go see a doctor, and she was diagnosed with cancer. Heartbreaking, of all things, cancer. We drifted apart and the stress she went under was an excuse for her to lash out at me when my father wasn't the victim for a change, we still loved her though, I just hope she knew that.

It didn't take long for her to become incapable of most things, including speaking or breathing, or even remembering her own family. It didn't take long for her once eloquent words to morph into sloppy, blurred moans, saliva dripping down the sides of her mouth, and her tongue hanging limp. It didn't take long for her once crystal, sparkling, eyes to turn into cloudy abysses, staring at the ceiling, just waiting for the pain to be over, even if it meant death.

My father became distant, buried himself in his work, became spiteful and could only feel resentment. He blamed most of this on God, saying how God should have considered our feelings and not just his own. I understood his pain.

So I had to do it. I had to be the one to end all of us of our misery, maybe God will never forgive me, but I didn't see the point in him taking her away from us slowly, if he wanted her, he should have done it faster.

So I pulled the plug.

In her last moments, her body didn't move but her eyes cleared instantly, they shined to the brightest brown, nearly luminous. I kissed her cheeks, letting the tears fall, bidding her goodbye.

We have no sanity; but neither has the rest of the world.

would you please repaint my life,
something tells me you'd make it better.
sanity can be taken away, cause even if neither of us have any
neither does the rest of the world.

Me, a saviour?

Another weird dream last night.

I was online, on Facebook to be exact, Mikee left a wall post telling me to comment on her picture, so I went to look at them. There was a commenter on one picture, I think I knew her, `cause all of a sudden, I was her.

I was standing in that same house I keep seeing in my dreams, in a black cocktail dress, looking very much like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's. I had been peeking through the peephole of the door, watching my mother with some man, I just wanted to get his face, then I gave them their privacy.
It happened again, but it was a different man and in the middle of the hallway. The next day, it was in a magazine, so I figured my mother was famous. I was too embarrassed to be seen with her, because the photo had been posted on Facebook, and somebody commented saying "It's okay, mothers have their whore seasons". How embarrassing. She made me go with her to Starbucks, so I wore a beret and a coat to cover up. When we got there, there was a woman with red frizzy hair reading a magazine, she didn't bother to hide her interest in my mother, so she called us over.
The lady was a magazine editor, and she wanted my moms story, but my mom refused all of her offers. The lady's assistant, a blond, asked me if I could preview their new book/magazine. Well, it was pretty much a very thick magazine which wouldn't have anymore issues, I said sure. That's when the weirdness began.
I had only read a few pages when I found myself walking along a desert, there was a ruin ahead of me, so I walked straight on. Like a game, directions on what to do next popped up, so I did as it said, I lay down on the river and let it carry me to the other side. When I got to the other side, I got some kind of object, I can't remember right now. But It said that the stone behind me was Jesus, I was surprised `cause it just looked like a rock, the directions told me that from afar, it looked like he was casting miracles. So I walked back to the other end and I looked back to the rock, it was true, it looked like a man in a robe with a staff, pointing the staff left and right, with golden orbs coming out of the staff. How bizarre.
So my mission was ready, I was to go to some place as a saviour.
I can't really remember what happened, I just remember that they hated me, they made me build their buildings, they kept on insulting me, and it was HORRIBLE. So I decided to fight back, I pulled down one of the slates on the roof, and all of them came crashing down, until just the frame was exposed, the poeple started going mad, and i think it was some kind of town obsessed with wrestling because they all started tackling each other. My "foster parents" (I found out this was cause my real parents went to the province for a few days to the care of these monsters) were having some kind of romantic moment, so they didn't notice, but I got really scared so I ran to the other side of the roof and climbed onto the frame, staying up there. There was one nice guy in the whole town and he asked me to go down, I refused, I was too scared. But eventually I climbed down and rushed into the bathroom.
I had wanted to call my parents, tell them to hurry home because I was being treated like a slave and I was scared, but I didnt have a phone. So I found my blade, and I hesitated with it. But I wanted to die. I just wanted these people to feel their guilt.
So I exposed the blade a little bit, and I dug it into my wrist, pulling it from side to side.
It was deep, and no blood came out, but it was enough to make me cry.
I went outside and I found myself in a house. My house, here in Manila. And I heard my little sister learning to walk, (yeah, I had a little sister who was african american) I can't really remember what happened next, but I know I was scared for her, because she was of a coloured race, and our foster parents were horrible. But I saw them cuddle her, and treat her like a princess, so I felt horrible, like I was unwanted. I looked at the fresh wounds on my wrists and I started crying.
I woke up in my room, with fresh tears pouring out of my eyes, crying "why?"

Muddled; A dream.

So I've been having these weird dreams the past few nights, muddled ones. They usually consist of things that I want or things that happen in real life, when I'm awake. Obviously, dreams are kinda like movies displaying your subconscious feelings. I guess you could say they show what you really feel, what you're too afraid to admit.

LAST NIGHT.
So it started with me walking around looking for this store. I can't remember what the store was, but that didn't really matter, what mattered was who I ran into. Firstly, a friend and his family, they were having lunch in some restaurant, and I didn't want an awkward meeting, so I hid and walked the other way. Then my mother was there with another family friend, I was happy to see them, so I walked around with them for a bit, finally asking if I could go. My moms friend gave me a lot of money and told me to take a taxi to her house so I could hang out with her kids, my friends, and she gave me their house key so I wouldn't be hassled by the gate.

Later, I arrived at their house, except, it wasn't theirs. It was his. Well, what seemed to be his, but I recall it looking like that house I saw on cribs just before I had gone to sleep.
So there was a party inside, not really a party, but a very festive funeral wake. Catered by Chili's, and a ton of my friends were inside. It was truly a beautiful house, with tiles from Italy and vibrant plants, a crystalline swimming pool and french doors. I found my friends lying on cushions, enjoying drinks, and I realised that I, too, wanted something to drink, so I asked a friend to come find the bar with me, he looked the same as he did in real life, blond, curly hair, tall and lanky. I came across the new widow, both of my eldest aunts were there, how bizarre. I talked to the hostess and told her I was sorry for her loss, they seemed to be the only suitable words. Instead of being thankful for my consideration, she just seemed pissed that I knew about it. She looked across the room, looking for her son. When she found him, she yelled
"You told her?!", he ignored her and stalked off.

When we finally found the bar, Harry had disappeared, instead, standing next to me was Jerrell, looking exactly the same. We couldn't find a bar tender, just this sad little metal thing with glasses and a few things one adds to make drinks look festive, like little umbrellas and maraschino cherries. We decided to have a contest, we'd make a drink and the other would have to drink it no matter how sick it was. I found some tumblers and filled them with ice, Jerrell was filling a glass with Shirley temple syrup, and suddenly Mr. Manaay walked past us, we got freaked out but we concluded that he didn't care, `cause he didn't say anything, we were wrong, he walked back to us and asked us what we were doing, in that shrill voice of his.
"Sir, they're just Shirley temples. Nonalcoholic," I told him, "Even though, you are unauthorised to handle the bar, get away from there." he commanded, we listened and left it.

I tried to make my way back, but I could no longer find my friends, I checked my watch and it was time for Home Ec class, which I dreaded `cause the teacher was ancient.
I found a classmate, I can't recall his face now, I'm not even sure if he exists. We went out of the gate and started walking down the road, the teacher was there, leading us to the classroom which was miles away. We told her that by the time we get there, the lesson would be over, she ignored us.
We came to a crossroad and met 6 other Augustinians, all of which were ready to go out. We walked down a granite road and found a canopy walk. We were walking over the forest to get to our classroom? How curious. We walked for what seemed like ages, and we finally got to the classroom. Yellow walls, white floors and sewing machines on every table. It was rather good, for CSA. So we sat down at our tables, and I checked the time. Dismissal. I told the teacher that it was time to go now, but she wouldn't listen. I knew it was time to go, so I woke up.

TWO NIGHTS AGO.
We planned to have lunch at that new mall opening, it was pretty swanky. We went into this department store, filled with counters of makeup and racks of clothes, they were interviewing different people, probably to get feedback on the new opening. We had wanted to ruin a few of their shots, so we stood in the background pulling silly faces until the photographer got mad at us. We walked on, only to find that the restaurant was closed, or full, or something like that.
So we wanted to check out the rest of the mall, and we found this adorable store, we went in and started looking around for the clothes that were displayed on the mannequin. I asked the sales assistant, and she called for tha manager, he had an arrogant air about him, as if he wanted us out of his store, pronto.
I asked him where their "nice" clothes were kept, just to piss him off, and he told me that they keep them away for the "real" shoppers. I told him we were interested in buying from the store, but he just laughed. He couldn't kick us out because we weren't doing anything wrong, so he just tried to infuriate us. Adults should know that nobody is better at annoying others than teenagers are. We looked through the clothes and a friend found a wallet she wanted to buy, she asked the manager how much it costed, he told her
"we can charge you as much as we want."
she didnt care about his injustice, so she said
"i dont care! i just want it."
I went up to him and told him that he was being unfair, and he couldn't charge her more than what the company was selling it for, and that he could end up in jail for that.
Yeah, and that's all I remember.

THREE NIGHTS AGO.
It was summer. I could tell because everybody had a relaxed atmosphere about them. We were at a camp, most of us, anyway. It was well known and the campus with huge, it stretched from the creamy sands of the beach to the terrorizing mountains overhead.
I was in my resort room, and he had come inside. I told him not to, and that I didn't want him there. He insisted on staying, so I got up and left him there. I made my way down to the beach, he was there again. A few of them were playing beach volleyball and a lot of people were watching, some kind of camp tournament.
I sat on the beach alone, watching the waves. Someone came up to me and said my sister was calling for me, and she was at the spa. So I got up and started walking in that direction. I walked for a long time, the sand disappeared and the grass started growing longer, until it was over my head. I looked up and there were eagles flying in a circle, i looked around me and the mountains looked like they guarding me from whatever was out there. I kept on walking, until the grass was so compact it was hard to move them, I looked far ahead, and I saw a miniscule spa, but my sister seemed to me directing me to the left. I walked towards the left and the grass was thinning out, there was a trail.
I continued walking until i reached the spa, finally. It was small, but beautiful. Made of grey marble, there were red silk curtains flowing in the wind, and candles which didn't seem to die out. There were massage tables, and indoor ponds. It seemed similar to Villa Manja, but that place was big. This was a compressed version. My sister told me something, about me having to leave early because of summer classes, I was disappointed because I had intended to meet some new people before leaving. What a bummer.
I walked back and Grace, Alexis and a few other people rushed past me, taking the trail and saying they had to leave the spa now, otherwise theyd be late for something. I saw Theo and Mikel walking up to the spa, they asked me how long I was staying for and I had to say now, because of summer classes. Mikel made fun of me, the same way he did in school a few days before the dream. I just laughed and walked down the trail alone, walking and walking, but seemingly going nowhere. I just walked until I woke up.

These dreams are becoming longer, and are incorporating my different experiences within them. A lot of them also have some kind of symbolized significance.
I wonder..