Monday, 13 December 2010
Sunday, 28 November 2010
He drove carefully down the twisting lanes, and his excitement was growing rapidly as the distance between them shrunk. He had plans on catching the sunset for her; throwing a lasso around it and locking it in a bottle, but he forgot that November time ticks to a different beat, that days were shorter and ultimately, that meant less time with her. The sunset would've been beautiful, but he had forgotten to plan, as men often do.
She trotted out of her house playfully kidding around with her mom, bidding her goodbye, and assuring her she would be home early, that no alcohol was involved in the evening plans, and yes, he would drive safely. After her routine of sliding onto the passenger seat, a quick kiss, and a deep sigh of comfort, she felt at home once again. Here, beside him, in the car that held all those long conversations they shared on the way home, all the secrets and life memories that slipped off their tongues, all the goodbyes that reminded them the night was over, and they had separate homes to retire to.
He soaked up her efflorescence, it had been a while since they were both so happy in each others company, and she felt like she had fallen in love all over again, that the difficult times were over, and this was where she was supposed to be.
Sunday, 7 November 2010
Tuesday, 19 October 2010
Sunday, 10 October 2010
Well, whatever you're doing, I hope it makes you happy. I hope it keeps you busy. I hope it gives you a sense of accomplishment, because that's exactly what you deserve. That's what I've been searching for, for the longest time. And it comes, but it goes just as fast. I guess that's how I learned that everything is temporary; materials, feelings, even people.
The only thing making my heart tinge just a little bit is my own curiosity. Are you running away from me? That question haunts my conscience, and I guess there's no point in minding it, because the only person I am asking is myself, and as much as I wish I did, I surely don't have any answers.
I lie alone in bed all day, listening to the same song and wasting the fading daylight, but you know what? It's okay. I'm not sad, I don't feel lonely. I know you're doing what you want, and even though you're all the way over there, and I'm here, you won't ever be gone because we are family.
And people made from each others flesh and blood can never run away from one another.
Monday, 27 September 2010
He hums a soft tune on the tip of his tongue, the smooth melody melts into waves down his throat. He's always been able to carry a tune, no, he's always been able to practically create symphonies with his own mouth, something he's actually proud of. It was hard to find a sliver of self-respect after the accident. He hated himself for months, still does from time to time. That's the problem with grief; it's different for everyone. You think you're okay, then all of a sudden, it hurts just like it did the first day.
He looks out the barred windows, into a stretch of dusty fields. Apparently freedom lies just beyond that, something he hasn't tasted in 17 years, something waiting just around the corner. Four more days, and he'll be out. Maybe he'd visit some old friends, some relatives. His mother, if she wanted to see him. Maybe he'd get a new job, something he'd really enjoy, like singing during the late hours at a bar, or maybe even start a band and make it big one day. He'll be free as a... hell, who was he trying to kid? He'll be a part of the world again, but forever tainted with the scar of prison. Forever looked down upon, and forever the face of a criminal.
Sunday, 5 September 2010
Saturday, 4 September 2010
I awake to a misty grey morning, tangled in bedsheets. My eyes slightly bruised as I slowly open them to greet the unfamiliar household. A tattered leather couch in the corner, a stack of magazines that have obviously been thumbed through several times, and a few pairs of dirty socks lying on the floor. Definitely not my house. But if not mine, then who's? I shut my eyes to recall last night's events. Clips of introductions, of one glass too many brimming with alcohol, of ice sloshing like little boats in an ocean storm, all definitions of last night, flashing like neon warnings in the back of my mind. Ah, yes. One of those nights. I'd better execute my traditional morning-after escape route.
I collect my clothes off the floor as I tiptoe to the bathroom, I push the door open silently and slip in. It's small, but thankfully, it's clean. The familiar ache along the back of my head is last nights remains catching up with me. I lean over the sink and examine my face. I look like shit. My eyebags practically reach my chin, and there's still makeup on my skin. I rinse my face quietly and feel around for some kind of cleanser, there's a pink bottle of women's facial wash on the shelf, and I raise my eyebrow at the thought of a man using this.
Wait a second.
A pink bottle of women's facial wash in my hand. A lilac bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. Two toothbrushes in the mug. Oh my god. I shoot through all the products on the shelves: perfume, hairspray, moisturizer, among the hair wax and aftershave. There's a green leather pouch, and I grab it and rip it open in the length of a breath. It contains everything I wish it did not, lipsticks, mascara, eyeshadow, every single item of make-up. I sit on the toilet feeling sick, wanting to throw up. How could I have done this?
I realize that I should get out as fast as possible. I pick my dress off the pile on the floor, yank it on, and creep out the room barefoot. I didn't even get to wash my face. I pick my shoes up off the floor and throw a horrible glare at the man passed out in his bed, I don't even want to see what he looks like. I rush out his room, turn the locks on the front door, and escape into the refuge of the hallway. The down-arrow by the elevator lights up as it reaches the floor, and a woman with luggage is revealed as the metal doors slide open. She's about to smile but she looks as if she's been caught halfway; like a movie on pause. She eyes me from head to toe, taking in my messy hair, my crumpled dress and my bare feet. I raise my eyebrows,
"Oh, I'm so sorry I'm staring. It's just, I have a dress just like that," she laughs, "Anyway, have a good morning!"
She steps out of the elevator as I step into it, and she disappears behind the corner of the hallway.
I look down at my dress. I've never seen it before in my life.
Saturday, 28 August 2010
Sunday, 15 August 2010
She doesn't know how close we really are, but that's okay.
Because I do.
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Thursday, 29 July 2010
We stopped at the end of the road, before a line that separated the city from the woods, a backdrop of fluorescent lights glittered behind us as he turned towards me. His face was a black hole of nothingness, but I wasn’t afraid, because the love we shared showed me that the physical world was so small in comparison to that of which we cannot touch. He moved closer and we hugged; I was enveloped in a blanket of every wonder I have ever known. And when we pulled apart, I awoke, still feeling his arms around me. The projection of that faceless lover felt so real, the love I had for him still lingered when I lay in bed, recalling. I was longing for him to come back, so I could feel love, even if it was just in a dream.
Friday, 23 July 2010
I think that everything that happens to you is based on how you dealt with previous situations, and every situation is a lesson we have to learn, and those lessons will repeat themselves in different ways until we finally get it.
I believe that life after death is based on your state of mind, a person who dies in his guilt will be condemned to suffer until he learns to forgive himself. Because once you die, there’s no way you can make up for what you’ve done wrong, and that, to me, is hell.
I believe in peace and love and forgiveness. I believe in both art and science, imagination and knowledge.
But most importantly, above anything else, I believe in being a good person.
I kept my eye on the machine, taking note of every drop in number, believing that zero would mean goodbye. I kept staring at that machine, the red and green digits indicating oxygen levels and heartbeat. I kept staring until they turned into swirls and stopped making sense.
The numbers fell from the seventies.. to the fifties.. to the twenties, and lingered around nineteen for a while. I kept watching the machine and listening to its evil rhythm, when out of nowhere the numbers hit zero. Every sound in the room was muted, all I could hear was the pounding of my heart against my ribcage. My brain stopped working, I just couldn’t function. I felt paralyzed.
And then the numbers jumped back up, still dangerously low, but at least they weren’t zero.
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
Sunday, 18 July 2010
Sunday, 11 July 2010
It was a small bag, red and silky, but probably some polyester blend, and inside it was a handful of golden jewelry. The thick bracelet I always saw her wear when I was a child, an Amethyst ring, earrings with Emerald stones, all shining brightly at me as my realizations came crashing down.
She was going to pawn them.
I didn't realise how bad things had gotten until I held that heavy bag in one hand, and my passport in the other. She was going to pawn her jewelry in order to pay for my plane ticket.
It's always a choice of happiness versus reason, for me. Decide between what you want and what you think is right. I always choose reason, and ended up regretting it. I've often heard the saying that life hands us the same lessons over and over again until we learn them properly, I could easily be selfish and assume that life wants me to choose happiness, but I'll never know until it's done.
Tuesday, 6 July 2010
Sunday, 27 June 2010
Fifteen minutes later and my eyes are bloodshot, the room is spinning and I am laughing at things that are not funny. I am lazy and I am paranoid, wondering if I am being annoying by laughing at stupid comments, I don't want to irritate anyone, are they irritated? I hope not. I try to explain how I feel, but I find myself saying the word "weird" three times in one sentence. Her eyes are melting in shape, like she has undergone strange camera effects. I laugh at this. Every moment is disconnected from the next, all I can comprehend is my current thought, and then I physically feel it melting and slipping away into some black hole where every previous thought has gone. I try to close my eyes and sleep but I am too curious, what is happening to me? I feel slight jerks and it takes me a while to realize that I occassionally twitch, it feels like a shot of cold ice. I lie still, wondering if I will still remember this later.
I know it will be safe with you.
I have been falling for months, with increased velocity as time dashes by, it felt like just yesterday when I hesitantly peeked into ground, trying to figure how far the jump would be. Now, I am plunging headfirst into the depths of the unknown, thankfully still no end in sight, but even more surprisingly, I still feel the adrenaline rush I had during the first stumble.
This fall, it's nothing I ever expected and everything I could ever want, it's the best thing that has happened to me in long time. And I know that it could go on forever if nothing gets in the way.
Saturday, 19 June 2010
I woke up to a new message in my inbox, a long letter from an old friend I haven't seen or spoken to in three years. I was surprised, of course, to see his name staring at me from the computer screen, and I wondered what he might want or what the message might regard.
As soon as I opened it, I wasn't surprised to see that it was about my father. In fact, I was quite glad that it was, since he was one of the few people I could actually relate to. His words defined every feeling I couldn't name; every thought that seemed like an enigma suddenly underwent a moment of realization, and I finally felt like I wasn't alone, like I was normal.
I didn't really want to tell anyone about it, because I wanted it to be between the two of us, a silent understanding of fatherless teens. But I found his words too beautiful and inspiring to be locked away from others, so I wanted to share it with you. Beauty that is shared only multiplies, so here is a part of the letter:
A last word of encouragement: sometimes it feels like things are going to be okay, and other times you'll feel like things will never be okay.
No one can truthfully tell you that things are going to be ok in the end, because nobody knows how it'll turn out in the end. That being said, what you choose to believe doesn't always have to be based on proof. Call it optimism or call it faith, but I think that if you start believing things will work out in the end, they just might.
Wednesday, 16 June 2010
Monday, 14 June 2010
They were a tangled heap, sharing body heat under the blankets. She lay her head on the chambers of his heart and heard it call out her name passionately. Her hair was messy and she wore no make-up, but he didn't care; To him, this was her at her finest. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks. Every meeting of lips against skin was a burst of heaven on fire.
Sunday, 13 June 2010
It's quiet days such as this one, where rain gently drips from a grey sky, that make me truly appreciate solitude. Alone at home with only my sleeping puppy, I wrap myself in my thickest blankets to ward off the whirl of cold air that has swallowed my room. The occasional chiming of my phone, announcing heartfelt messages from familiar people; Good books lay unread on my side tables, and slow music drips from all around. Time has stopped for me to catch up on what I have missed, sweet moments for myself. Where painting, reading, writing is ideal. I have missed these days, although I have spent two months away from school, I guess all I really needed was to first feel frazzled and hassled with work before I could truly appreciate a day such as this one.
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
Thursday, 3 June 2010
We are all five years old.
In front of us, sitting on a big chair to show that she is in charge, even though she is quite small, is the teacher we have come to love. Her red hair flares out, away from her face, and her nose is dusted with freckles. She is the one we go to for cuddles and pats on the back, when our friend has stolen our favourite crayon. She is the one who sits beside us, slowly teaching us to count the coloured bears in front of us so we can go home and enthusiastically show our parents that we know our numbers up to one hundred.
Every so often, she would show us something new. Last week she introduced a puppet that was exactly the same as the one I had inherited from my grandfather, one I never really appreciated because it was wooden and old-fashioned. Today, she has graced us with a book. She pulls it out and begins to turn the pages as a story unfolds and plays before our eyes.
It's about a caterpillar who doesn't stop eating, and such a simple story brings such delight to our little minds. Enough delight to last 12 years to today. Enough delight to be called my favourite childhood story.
Enough delight to look for it in every bookstore I walk into and be five years old again.
Tuesday, 1 June 2010
No one has to know. In fact, I'd prefer it if no one did know. This, the both of us, here, this is our little secret. Just one bottle of wine too many, just one lonely night too many, just one asshole, ex-boyfriend too many. There has always been something about girls that interest me, the curve of their waist, the smooth skin, the long lashes and crafted lips. Everything I already possess, but have never held in my arms at night. Try everything once, I say. And it's not like one night will make much of a difference. Tonight, I can be the one running my hands over long locks for a change, I can drape my fingertips on powdery skin, I can breathe in the scent of a woman. And tomorrow, I can wake to find my bed empty, but the trace of your perfume still lingering on my pillowcase, possibly a silver bracelet you forgot on my coffee table and a few strands of golden hair that have fallen to my floor.
Sunday, 16 May 2010
I am here. Ever watching, ever waiting. I am here, looking for a way to break out, but no matter how long I search for an exit, no matter how many times I throw my frail body against the glass in hopes of breaking it, I always find myself still suck in the same four walls.
Why do I feel like this? I often ask myself.
I rarely find an answer. Maybe I am just one those people who needs to be around noise and other people to be happy. The quiet, still household I live in is toxic for me. The constraints that barricade me in, they break me. Maybe I am just one of those many teenagers who wants to be free, but is imprisoned by lonely and paranoid parents.
Friday, 14 May 2010
Nature. Always her best friend, her mother, her protector. It is in the sunlight where she is safe, it is in the coursing rivers where she is cleaned, it is in the lush greens of the forest where she is happy. Her copper face holds a beauty that is exquisite and raw: Thin lips, a straight nose, high cheekbones, almond eyes, and a jet of raven hair running like ink down her back.
Her stride is all-knowing although she has not been anywhere but here. She is wise beyond her years, beyond the limited realms of science and history.
She knows the anatomy of Earth, where every vein runs into the flowers and how every heartbeat pulses into the birds, setting them into flight. She understands the language of the winds and the stars and the waters that are older than history itself. She reads the footprints in the ground and the rings in treebarks.
She is all-knowing, and is bursting with stories to tell.
But she is trapped in a western world she does not want to belong to.
A prisoner, on the roadside, attempting to catch a few silver coins in her outstretched palms.
Thursday, 6 May 2010
People often say to go with your instinct. But I have trouble doing so because my instinct consists of two voices fighting inside my head. "Don't do it!" says one, "Do it!" says the other. I guess the slight feeling of guilt should be enough to point me in the proper direction, but it isn't because I'm far too stubborn for my own good. The fact that I'm admitting to all of this while trying to decide what to do should be enough too, but one again, my stubbornness gets the best of me. I guess all I want to do is justify that going in the wrong direction won't be too bad after all. My sisters revealed a number of their secret escapades, I listened in awe to the things I had no idea that they had done, things like sneak out in the middle of the night and climb water towers with their friends. It made me realise that I have been so good. And even though I have been made to feel like I have done something wrong, I really haven't. All I'm doing wrong is sitting in the same place waiting for something to happen, releasing my frustration on the same person who doesn't deserve it, when what I ought to be doing, even if it is a little risky, is making what I want to happen, happen. As long as I don't get caught, nobody will have to know.
Wednesday, 5 May 2010
Photo Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/papertissue/4569869248/
What was once poolside celebrations with balloons and marshmallows, stuffing faces with pizza and filling cups to the brim with soda, has turned into sneaking into smoke-filled parties, taking drugs and as many shots as the pre-pubescent body can handle.
Bribing bouncers with their bodies, getting down on their skinny knees in exchange for a night's worth of mistakes.I see these girls, so proud of their exotic features and their foreign blood, flaunting their nonexistant curves to any guy that will throw two seconds to look. Talking down on girls weaker than them, picking on every flaw and tormenting their paranoia with endless insults directed at their insecurities, just because they can.
It's these girls who make me sick. They're blessed with beauty but they abuse it.
It's these girls who carry the proper title of "Bitch".
It's these girls who try to grow up too fast.
It's these girls who try to live it up while they're young, but regret it when they age.
It's these girls I pity.
Monday, 3 May 2010
It's me, Joanna. I don't really know how to start this off. For a self-acclaimed "Awesome-letter-writer", I never know how to start. Can I just say that I miss you? That it's been 16 hours and your absence has cut us all open like the sharpest knife. I think I am coping the best, out of the four ladies in the Kennedy family. I accpeted this moment a while back. I knew, from the moment you were admitted into the ICU, that I had to brace myself for the worst. And I did, and my face is not as tear-streaked as those of my sisters. It's really hard seeing them so devastated,dad. I know that you do not want them to hurt so badly, but they do. We all do. We love you so much, that the thought of never seeing you again is too much to bear.
I was doing fine sniffling away at the memories we shared. Things like looking through your astrophotography and promising to make it my desktop background (which I swear I will do now), or watching Chelsea on the telly. But then Jayne mentioned that it's not yesterday that's making her sad, it's what will never happen tomorrow. Then the imaginary scenarios started playing out in my head.
I will never get to introduce a boy to you as my boyfriend. No guy I will ever date will have the pleasure of being intimidated by my scary dad.
You will not be there at my graduation. In the sea of faces, I will search endlessly but never come across yours.
I won't be able to phone you when I get my first job, to listen to your complaints about the crappy salary and the ridiculous hours.
You won't be there to give me away at my wedding, or Steph's, or Jaynes. That's what really hits home. The fact that you won't see any of your daughters get married.
But it's okay dad, because I had the pleasure of knowing you for 17 years, and in those 17 years you taught me so much. We shared a love for football, and I know how proud you were of me when I told you that I scored the winning penalty at one of my games. I remember how you supported me when I decided to run for the senior council, and how you consoled me when I didn't get in. Most of all, I remember one of my early birthdays when you walked into my bedroom and spoke to me about the importance of identity. "Find out who you are, before it's too late" are the exact words you said, forever etched into my memory.
I want to apologize for all the times I never managed to meet your expectations. Like when I got an 80 in Math and a 93 in CLE and you were really pissed off, you scolded me. I'm sorry that I stopped playing and watching football, and Im sorry that I never told you that I love you enough. I still remember the last time I hugged you. I think it was because you allowed me to go to a friend's party, last November. November, dad. November. And over such a stupid reason.
I'm sorry for last Saturday, dad. I'm truly, truly sorry. I know I kept you up worrying, because I came home later than I said I would. I promised you that I'd call if I ever had any complications ever again. And I will keep that promise. I know now, to be careful for what you wish for, because life does a lot of crazy, unexpected things. I'm sorry that I had to see you how you were, that Monday morning. I often think about how you were on the floor, bloody and naked and how you said "Help me" in a such a slurred, pityful way. I'm sorry if it's because of me that you fell sick, if perhaps I didn't phone mom fast enough, or if you could have been saved if I called an ambulance instead. I wish I hugged you on Sunday when you weren't pissed at me anymore, dad. But I didn't. I'm just thankful that we made amends before Monday came around.
I'm currently looking at the lyrics I painted onto my wall, you didn't notice them but they say "Look at the stars, look how they shine for you" and nothing could be more true. I will wake up to each day being reminded of you by those lyrics. You are where your heart is, dad. I know you're in the stars. I know you're forever with me.
I will see you again one day.