I may or may not get the opportunity to travel to the U.S to attend a creative writing workshop. Detailed blog post coming up soon.
The following poem is not of my own work; it is a piece I found on Wattpad a few years ago, written by a user whose name I have failed to remember. Credits go to their rightful owner.
Holding it seems so natural; so innate.
She breathes in, the music pours out and fills her soul completely.
As the bow glides on red strings, the therapeutic sound traps her in a cycle she cannot leave.
The melody catches her tears; the silence creates them.
Addicted to the song she plays for eternity.
The music blinds her, for she cannot see
That her violin is broken, and so is she.
He is there
He is not
He is there
He is not
He is there
He is there indeed
Her lips, his bed
Her curled locks, his monkey bars
Her tears, his water slide
Her eyes, his fishing pond
Her brain, his library
Her heart, his sanctuary
Her body, his territory.
I have had 3 cups of black coffee in less than 45 minutes.
I should probably go out for a run, but I’m afraid there will be too many people outside; it’s Sunday morning, and I’ll have to pass the church to get going.
Oh well, I’ll just shower and study. On a beautiful Sunday morning.
That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Absolutely.
Wish me luck, or don’t. I don’t believe in luck, anyway.
It’s been 2 days. This bird, now called Kevin, has been paying frequent visits to perch on the edge of my balcony and do his bird business. He usually sits there for a good 10 minutes, flutters away, but eventually finds his way back to this distinctive spot, which, needless to say, he has now officially claimed his own.
I’m not sure whether or not his appearing on my balcony the past few days is purely coincidential or a sign of some sort because last year, during the same time (midterms week) a black bird mysteriously appeared in my bathroom. The reason I’m slightly uncomfortable about this is that the bird happened to die in my bathroom.
Parental advisory: the following may contain graphic imagery not suitable for young readers. Reader discretion is advised.
Just kidding. Stick around.
So on the morning of a fairly average day, I was woken up by the sound of the school bus arriving to pick up my siblings to school. I had midterms, so normally I was at home to study. I slipped out of bed straight to the kitchen, made myself grilled cheese sandwiches, a mug of tea, and sat in the living room to eat and watch TV. I returned to the kitchen to flush down my supplement pills with a glass of water when I heard a strange rattle in the bathroom near the kitchen door. Holding my breath for a moment, I stopped and waited for the sound to come back. It didn’t. Guess that’s no big deal…
The noise came back as I opened the fridge to replace the cheese. I shoved it in immediately and walked slowly towards the bathroom door, trying not to make a sound. The door was opened, so I peered to check what it was when a black, hand-sized object bolted towards the corner. No longer within my field of vision, I could not tell exactly what it was but immediately assumed it was a mouse. I rushed to call my dad for help when I heard it flutter and knock off shampoo bottle or something. A mouse with wings?
I stood still, too terrified to move a muscle when the little being hopped out of the bathroom door and stood on its tiny feet, staring at me. It was an innocent black bird which obviously found its way inside when my siblings left the house that morning. My fear was washed away at the sight of this bird hopping on the floor. Suddenly I remembered that it was a bird, which meant it had wings and could fly.
If that thing starts flying, I’m leaving the house.
The moment I lifted my foot, birdy scurried right back into the bathroom. I quickly closed the bathroom door. I don’t know if that was a smart move. I feel quite guilty now; we’re getting to that part. Anyway, I kept the door closed until my dad stopped by the house a few hours later. During that time, I constantly looked through the keyhole to check on my winged house-mate. He seemed to be comfortable perched on the toilet seat.
When dad came home I told him about our visitor, so he opened the door slowly and called me.
“Uh.. there’s nothing in here.”
“What do you mean there’s nothing in here? There’s a bird in our bathroom, it was sitting right over-”
And then I saw it. Inside the toilet was the lifeless body of little birdy. Face down and eerily still. I felt terrible, almost like I’d shoved him down there myself, and I still get a pang in my heart every time I see a bird.
Yeah, that’s what happened to the last bird that showed up here. I don’t know if I’ll end up killing this one, too. I sure hope not.
Lesson of the day is: stay away from birds, well, animals. They sure can break your heart.
I broke the only pair of glass-
I can see it’s been a terrible day… Well, actually I can’t.
Apparently, getting up late just wasn’t enough to screw up my entire day. Yes, being up late does indeed screw up my entire day because I happen to be a very punctual person and tend to get very nervous if I miss a minute. So I’m just going to jump to the part where I tell you I broke my glasses and saw nothing all day.
I only owned one pair of glasses, and I broke them on the morning of a school day. Well first I thought it wasn’t much of a big deal; I’ll just take a seat in the front row or copy off someone’s notebook, easy. But there was more to it than just that. I had to walk up and down the staircase, through the hallways, to my desk, heck, I had to spend an hour of recess looking at blurred outlines of people, or things, that I could hardly make out.
I beat my brains out trying to remember if I’d done drugs that morning. The sight of almost 400 misty silhouettes made me feel so punch-drunk that I almost fell to the floor. Squinting like a bag of nails, I saw the unmistakable figure of one of my friends; a tall blonde jumping like a bunny. I gave her a plain smile as she led me towards the others.
When the bell rang I exhaled in relief. I’m never happy to get to class, but at least I’d be squinting at 30 or so people, not a bloody swarm. I asked a guy in the front seat to switch seats for the day, and he kindly did. I had the last seat by the corner. Well I’d called dibs on that seat since the first day mainly because I like to avoid being the center of attention, and frequently posed questions, at the front. Also, I somehow find comfort in having a wall behind me; it makes me feel…secure. Anyway, I sat right in front of the board, and although I was only about a meter and a half away, I saw nothing, and the backlight from the screen gave me a thumping headache.
I was starting to doze off when my Maths teacher called out for me to get to the board. No, I will not calculate the limit of that damned curve. I’d like to think it’s going to Hell. “I can’t see without my glasses, and I have a terrible headache.”, I finally said. She immediately picked another student to do the filthy work. With or without my glasses, I’d never get up to solve a Maths equation, ever.
By the end of third period I was nauseated, and it carried on along with the headache till the end of the day. It got terribly worse on the bus ride home, of course, because there was no better way to top it all off.
I got home, thrust my backpack against the wall, threw myself on the bed and slept for 2 hours. I rarely to never sleep during the day, not even a nap, but I just couldn’t hold myself for one more second.
So what I’ve learned is: always keep a spare pair of your important things like, I don’t know… GLASSES? And keep practicing how to resist punching people in the nose when they ask how many fingers they’re holding up for you. You never know when a teacher suddenly appears behind you.
p.s. I didn’t really punch anyone. I wasn’t raised on a fucking barn.
I am a blunt person by nature. Sugarcoating my comments has never been my hobby, and honestly, I’d rather just lay down my opinion on the spot than fabricate something and play along with it for as long as it takes. To some people I’m considered rude; to others, honest. Frankly, how people label me has never been my concern, and I hope they never get the chance to destroy this solid personality that I’ve built for myself over the few years that I’ve lived- I’m only sixteen, technically a child, and some of you might think I’m too young to know what being brought down and criticized is like, but I’ve had my fair share of that. Who cares, anyway? Not me.
I’ve made this blog so I can channel my thoughts to a virtual community, even if that community does not acknowledge my existence; I don’t give a damn. The mere thought of having somewhere to express myself in a society where I’m always asked to “stay out of it” or “watch my words” makes me wish I could plug my brain into this computer so everyone can know what I really have to say on certain topics. I never have this much to say in person. If asked to speak in front of anyone, I’d probably sit there in silence while my mind does the work; it’s always sounded better in my head, and what better way to keep it like that than to let those words slide down to your fingertips? The person reading this will start by reading it silently, (I don’t suppose anyone reads their blog feed aloud, do you?) so it basically still sounds good in your head. I’m not quite sure that makes much sense, but let’s keep it that way. Judging by my previous posts, you’d probably think of me as that dark, twisted person who stays up all night with evil thoughts in her head. Actually, I’m not the most cheerful person either, but I’m not that pessimistic Emo kid you thought I was. I simply find it easier to write in that dark manner, even though I’m not much of a dark person. When asked to check one of my poems, my teacher wrote, “Why so dismal? That is certainly not you.” And I never understood that. I never understood how my teacher was able to tell who I was by just walking into the classroom and doing her job. All she did was listen to my comments and correct my papers, and I don’t believe that gave her much insight on my personality, so why was she so shocked at my style of writing? This is one of the many things that get my head spinning; how people assume to figure out someone’s personality from the way they dress, speak, look, or from the people they hang out with. On the outside I look like any normal teenager (normal would not necessarily mean that I follow the trends everyone tries to follow or that I’m one of those “wannabe” kids you see at the mall). At school, I often have my backpack on my back, not sagging below my ass, and a paperback in my hand. I’m myopic, so I wear corrective glasses. Everyone assumes I’m the smart nerdy girl who studies all night and kills the chill vibe. In fact, I do have high grades and study just enough to maintain my average, but that doesn’t mean that I stay up all night studying or that I don’t know how to have fun. I enjoy reading. Reading is how I have fun. It doesn’t take a party with the cool kids or a ride with your under aged friends to make you feel alive. Books make me feel alive; they are a world on its own. A world embedded in words. This world uncovers when your brain translates these words into pictures and feelings, and those pictures are purely made for you. Another person reading the same book will picture it in a different way and have other feelings towards the same action. I think books are codes meant to be deciphered by the human brain, only there is no single correct way to do so. Whatever your brain comes up with is right; you will succeed at decoding it no matter what you end up with. That is very intriguing. Words; ink on paper…they have the ability to trigger countless feelings, thoughts, reactions in you. Heck, those words can change the way you think. And I find that beautiful. I find it fun. I find it exciting. I’ve always been fascinated by literature. In my own perspective, every word, when read and understood, is a branding iron pressed against your soul. You can call them scars, but let’s face it, those are some beautiful scars you have there.
For the time being, this will do. I will hopefully be back to let you in on some other parts of myself. Again, I do not care if no one ever reads this. I have it up for myself. I blog for my entertainment, not vice versa. However, if you do enjoy reading this for some reason please like/ leave a comment so I know you do. Every like puts a huge smile on my face. Just knowing that someone out there appreciates what I write makes me the happiest person in the world.