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Alezander

[Immobilis]

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Here is Immobilis, an enclave for my writing impulses.

Let time stop, even for just a while.

 

 

Here, a welcoming haiku for you:

 

Record.

A journey s'all I need

A record, a testament

For my existence.

 

4HbGMaH.jpg

 

Look out for these markers:

[RED]

It means there is cussing in that post

 

[YELLOW]

It means spoilers and theories ahead

 

[bLUE]

It means there is self-hating in that post

 

 

I love living. I love writing. Put these two together, and you have me.

And of course, don't forget to sprinkle LOTS of YAOI on top!

 

9ZY6JFM.jpg

 

 

 

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Entry #1: A free-written poem(?) about my place in my family. Don't get me wrong. My family is far from perfect, but we all love each other. We just don't say it or show it often.

Note: [RED] [bLUE]

 

 

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I have a fucking complex, and it's not going away anytime soon. It's tiring, but I must bear it. I have no say, so I must hide my words in my head. In a never ending sentence, I must dwell in this prison. I must not complain. I am not supposed to. I must not oppose. It is not my place. I am the youngest, and I have no choice.

 

I am not enough, and will never be. Other times, it feels that I am too much. Like I turned out to be a disappointment. And there is nothing I can do. I am the youngest, and I can not satisfy them.

 

I should not do anything unless I am told. I must not do nothing when not told. I am always mistaken and unable to do anything right. I am the youngest, and I am unconditionally wrong.

 

I am too noisy, I am too quiet. I am too energetic, I am too placid. I sleep too much, I sleep so little. Everything I do is a kind of rebellion, but I was just trying to fit in. Because I thought I was a member of this household, but they don't think so. To them, I will never grow up. I am the youngest, and I will always be a child.

 

I must look down. I am not their equal, and so I must know I am less. I am thoroughly incapable, I have nothing. I am pathetically dependent. The food I eat, the water I drink, the bed I sleep in, the clothes on my back. Everything is theirs. Nothing is mine. I am the youngest, and all I have is the story in my head.

 

How long do I have to live like this? I have no right to escape. I would be an ingrate if I did. My chest hurts and my eyes burn as often as I breathe, as constricted as I do. I am a nuisance when I am not useful. I am the youngest, and I will never be understood.

 

For certain, I will not be missed. When I'm gone, it will be like wind passed through leaves. No one will care, and that is not a problem. In fact, it is to be expected. The last one is not the last one for no reason. I am the youngest, and maybe I should have not been born.

 

I know less, I know nothing. I experienced less, I experience nothing. I am always left behind until my lungs burn and my feet are broken. I am ignorant. Naive. I am dead weight. I am the youngest, and I am a burden.

 

I only want to be loved, but I do not deserve any of that. I am the youngest. That is all there is to it.

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trying out the new self-made signature just because... :Gangnam:

 

i've been in this forum for two years and only now did i bother to change up my profile a bit, talking to others, and just being a normal forum member. i wasn't too sociable in real life, and i was no different on the net, but i'm trying to change a bit. there are so many things i want to do here, i even care for my account here than my Facebook account. these days i've been happy because after being such a wimp for the last five years of my life, i'm finally trying out the stuff i've wanted to do.

 

am i still making sense? i know i'm getting repetitive and boring but that's just me writing out the contents in my head. really, there is no point reading this.

 

uhm. a bit of honesty here. i've always been rather envious of the way the members here interact. i knew i was a member and that communication is a two way thing but i never bothered to reach out myself first because... heck, even answering a simple poll was too stressful for me.

 

but last night (or was it last, last night??) i binged-answered (not really all but... a lot~) the threads at the polls about BL stuff and woahh.... i had so much fun not just reading others' thoughts, but sharing mine too. i laughed aloud a lot that my big sis scolded me for being so noisy in the middle of the night. but really, it was a first for me. "Be cautious in life, double that on the Internet". i don't remember where i heard of that or when i started thinking like that. for a long time i kept thinking that if i don't watch my words right, i'd probably screw up and offend someone SO every time i want to reply to a thread, i hesitate and think "nahh, my opinions really don't matter anyway" then i wimp out. :Sad:

 

the only time i replied to a thread with strong determination is whenever i enter a contest, be it the BL writer's contest or the Photography contest... i don't know,i just really love to write because i love stories. don't we all? i'm no good in drawing or voice acting or animating so writing is the only way i can contribute to the one thing we all love: YAOI :In love:

 

but really, i was just trying out mah new signature, featuring Girl Side A from Girl by Teddyloid

 

this entry is cluttered as f*ck, but i'm glad i got that out of my chest.

 

i promise i can write better than this so... don't give up on me yet, pweeash~? :Playing:

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[td]Someday this dream I live in will disappear. One day, the people I love, the things I have worked for, all the songs and movies I have watched, all of them will someday disappear, buried somewhere in memories. One day, I too will disappear, perhaps even sooner than anyone else. I don't know, only time will tell. Time, the ever constant flow of time. But even as I am yet to be forgotten, even as I am still here, please, stay by me, here by my side. I stumble often, and I cry even more. I am uncool most times, and seldom am I purely proud of myself. I am imperfect at best, as my friend time has proven again and again. Truly, I am the average of most people, but please, please consider, please stay by me, here by my side. Over time, your beauty may fade, your youth replaced by age, the edges of your eyes wrinkled as an autumn leaf. But, if your brightest of smiles remains, then fear not, I shall do the same. That is why, I too, need confirmation of your promise. Stay by me, here by my side, won't you?[/td]

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This story is from about two months ago:

 

This is my deceased succulent, Zen. We were discussing the story "Gift of the Magi" in our English class and so our teacher came up with the idea to exchange gifts just because. Zen was given to me by a classmate who, for a long time, I considered to be immature and a jester through and through. I was surprised when he turned out to be my "Santa" and came up to me holding little Zen. Then he told me, cheesily, that he picked the gift so that I would remember him every time I woke up. I figured he was just doing what he did best, joking around, but still I was grateful, and I promised him that I would take care of his gift until we both graduated from university (that's two years from now), even long after that.

 

I tried to take care of Zen as much as I could, but she died just a little over two months with me. My heart broke, but I swore that one day I would have another succulent and this time, protect it to the very end. Rest well, my little Zen!

 

Have you ever tried protecting something/someone, only to fail doing so?

 

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beautiful you were alive, even more so in death.

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So I found this video on 9gag a month ago. I laughed so hard, I figured I should share it to you guys~!

Warnings: there is slight, very sliiii~ght nudity... also, religious jokes. If you are easily triggered by this sort of thing, please don't force yourself to watch~ I'm a Christian myself, but I took no offense to this. Hope you get a good laugh!

 

[video=facebook_share;10154949263873386]

 

 

Update: I guess the audio isn't working right (at least for me), so here's the link to the video. I swear it's funnier with the audio

 

:Wink:

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Honestly, I don't know where I'm headed, and I may have gone through some rough patches, but I only wanted to tell you, dear self, that I'm doing well. Thank you for everything. I have no one else but you, my self. True, there are many things I regret, and many things I wish to undo if I could yet in the end, I trust you completely. Let's continue to search for our happiness, until the end of time, until I breathe my last. Dear self, you are everything that I am, and I hope you don't blame yourself too much for the present, because in time I shall become more of you, and tomorrow shall become the new me. Please don't hurt and agonize over the bad things that have happened to me, because in its own way, this is the best route I could have gone done, because I selected it myself, you chose this path for me. Don't regret, me. Be at peace. I am living well, and living hard. Though sometimes it's difficult, in the end, I am happy, because you have provided this life for me, for us both.[/td]

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I had a dream. It was so sweet, so beautiful that I felt like crying when I was suddenly woken up by none other than myself. It wasn't that I was a princess, but I was an educated darling that my family loved me a lot and gave me lots and lots of books to read. To the me in the dream, it was paradise, but it was lonely. Though I was genuinely loved, not everyone had time for me. Except for one person, and that was my cousin. My cousin was already a young man of about twenty years while I was in my mid teens. It was quite the age gap, but I found him utterly handsome and attractive. He loved books as well and often since I was young he would join me in the library, sometimes reading me a story animatedly. I was fond of him and he felt the same. But then there was slight trouble in the house and to protect me, I was sent to my uncle's house where I would stay for a time until the trouble in my parents' house was dealt with. I think I was a gullible, optimistic character who loved to see and experience new things. I agreed to live apart from my parents and went ahead to pack my things. When moving day came, my cousin came to help. I was happy to see him and went to greet him. He was charming and a gentleman as always but there was a sadness in his eyes that I could not understand. He quickly replaced it with a smile and soon I forgot there was something wrong. The trip to his house was long, and as the horses pulled and the carts rocked, my cousin and I read atop the crates. He took my hand and held it for a long time, even when we arrived. His hand was warm and reassuring. My heart was beating pretty fast and I felt weird but it was a happy feeling regardless. Through the gates of his house I saw my uncle with his strong arms, his patched eye and his other eye, twinkling with welcome. Without a thought I ran to my uncle but then stopped because I knew he wasn't the type to kiss and embrace. So I stood in front of him and smiled. To my delight, he offered me his hand which I took instantly and kissed it. He was surprised for a moment for he meant to shake my hand, but he laughed boisterously so I smiled along with him. He showed me their pond which had flamingoes and fishes living in it. I knelt close to the edge, hoping to see some of the fishes swim past. Then my cousin came and although he gave me the smile he usually gave to me, there was a heaviness in his steps that bothered me. Then the thought that maybe I was a burden occurred to me. I looked up to my uncle and found him giving my cousin a stern look. I couldn't understand what was going on and I was getting worried so I took my cousin's hand again. My cousin looked surprised, then afraid as he looked at his father.

 

And then I woke up.

 

Only now do I realize as I am writing this that my uncle probably loved to help my father and so he let me live with him, but disapproved with the growing feelings between his son and me. Then there was the possibility that one day I would be adopted into their family if ever the trouble at my father's house was never resolved, so any romantic feelings between me and my cousin would be inappropriate since we would be siblings then. And I think the troubled look on my cousin's face was because he was guilty for treating the crisis happening in my family a chance to get closer to me. So maybe my dream wasn't so sweet and beautiful, but it sure was a memorable one. Of course, since it was a dream, everyone's faces were hazy and none of the characters were my real family members, though I was sure my uncle in the dream had the appearance of Jet from Cowboy Bebop.

s139.jpg253723.jpg

 

And I think the part where I loved books was triggered by the manga Mobile Sweet Honey (thank you very much, YO scanlators~!) which I was reading before I fell asleep.

Mobile%2BSweet%2BHoney.png

 

Finally, the whole fairytale setting was because I was listening to Aurora's Half The World Away on repeat while I slept.

 

How about you? Ever had a dream you think was a waste to wake from?

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Slight BLUE maybe?

 

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[td]I can't remember the last time I talked to myself. Yes even in my sleep, before I sleep, when I sleep I clench my teeth together. Unconsciously, as if with a definitive purpose. I like to think that living simply means losing all greed and ambition. Unsurprisingly everywhere else that is not me is of a demanding nature, and so I am pulled, dragged, whichever it may be. There is a thin line between duty and genuine willingness, and I am wont to admit that the strongest feeling I've ever had as a person is when I am in sloth mode. In the end, shamefulness and shamelessness mean the same thing. Somebody tell me where all of this is headed, then maybe I might consider buying a one way ticket because a round trip sounds unproductive. I see clearer with my eyes closed. I think better when I don't do anything. I sleep better when I dream of nothing. I have been performing CPR since birth, but I only start to breath when I am in the shower. I can't even fit three fingers in my mouth. I long to sing so loudly that nobody hears. Sometimes I have an appetite for pain, but I'm too cowardly to put up with it reasonably. If time had a face, it must be utterly, terrifyingly attractive. I read that men become sexier as they age, just as wine becomes tastier over time. Still, the existence of a something that is even more beautiful than a life bitterly spent is yet to be proven. Everything else is beautiful when everything else is out of reach. When I crave, when I thirst, when I am denied. At the end of the day, duality is what makes life interesting. Irony, dear self.[/td]

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I'm writing a story dedicated to a dear friend of mine and it's a fan(?)fiction with the idea of menstruating males involved (I'm guessing almost all of the members here have already heard of this bit of news). It's far from perfect but maybe I'll share it here someday so you guys can throw hate and love (preferably love, please~) to it...

 

This very, very short story here is the "fairytale-ish" summary of the relationship between my main characters (you know, kinda like how fairytales/children's stories are incorporated in KDramas, if you're familiar with KDramas...)

 

So, here goes:

 

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"Once upon a time, a snowball got lost. It rolled for days, hoping to find the right snowman to whom it could be part of. On the way, it got dunked in mud and got leaves and other bits stuck to it, making it dirty. The other snowballs, still fresh and pristine, made fun of it. The snowball cried and cried. The snowball was sad, knowing it couldn't go back to being as pure white as the others. So the snowball changed its shape every day, pretending to be something else to avoid the mockery of others. One day it would pretend to be a carrot, another day a cat. Soon, it ran out of time. Unable to find its snowman, the snowball slowly melted as winter reached its end. The pretty spring sun opened her eyes, and the snowball greeted her even as it stood in the middle of a muddy puddle of its own. She asked the snowball what it was. The snowball did not want to be ridiculed even in its final moments, so it claimed to be a bird, free and unchained by the earth. The spring sun invited the snowball to join her in the skies as they await the dawn of spring, but even as the snowball gazed at her brilliance, unable to say farewell, it lost its form, going back to the earth, going back to nothing."

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The story might make better sense and meaning if you can read the main story I'm writing but since I'm not finished, this will be all for today.

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I woke up today with Jaymes Young's

(the link doesn't direct to his official post though) so I thought I should share this journal entry I once wrote on March 30, 2017 on my phone. It's just me being a kid and wondering about love. (This pic I took isn't HD and it's bothering me, grr)

cheetah10

 

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Is anything sweeter than love? Does such a thing exist? Some days I stare off to nowhere, genuinely wondering what it means to love and to be loved. It's not just a mere longing for me anymore. I have developed an obsessive curiosity towards it, and I have been doubling, no, quadrupling my efforts to recognize it. And yet I don't, or maybe I just don't see it. Like a stubborn package, it never allows me a little peek, a small glimpse of it. What is love? It is very abstract, yet it is very real. I know it is. The words I utter now will be lost in time, possibly never to be known, but love. Love will always be around, like a curse. Is love a bad thing? More often than not, I hear it ruins people after it lets them experience an elation that they would have never known otherwise. Is that it? Is love just a trap, an irresistible one? And yet I see happily wed couples with their children and grandchildren and doubt that that is all there is to love. But then love is not always the "together forever" type. It can be a passing chapter of one's life, not the finale. Is love beautiful? Yet people claim that love that is true is not bound by beauty alone. It is a patchwork of pain and sadness, with a considerable amount of frustration at the side. In my mind, love may come in any form, I do wish to think that. But if one loves, one should love until it hurts, so that no regrets will consume you later. There is the thing about equivalent exchange, but is it really so important to look cool when in love? Dignified, yes. Inappropriately gaudy, no. Is love stupid? Sometimes being hardboiled becomes a basis to think that love is and for the foolish. And also, for the lonely. But being an idiot doesn't stop anyone from falling in love anyway. Does loving require a reason? There are as many faces of love as there are many people. Love can be sustained by a purpose, or a primal instinct, by fate, or by accident. But does it really matter? Even I haven't fallen in love yet, so I have fallen in love with love. In my dreams, in my waking hours, in my early mornings and late nights, I think of love and what it means to be loved. Which is preferable, a naturally, almost destiny driven mutual attraction? Or a hard earned relationship with clear intentions and labels? Whichever floats then. But I am sure of one thing. Given that, after all my attempts I have not succeeded at defining love, then, love is this. Love is boundless. And, grotesque or not, love is attractive, addictive. So maybe I was sure of three things. Who knows? Maybe I am love myself.

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I'm assuming that y'all here have watched this bit of heaven here but imma leave it here anyway~

I just love how there is a variety of boys/men here, like a rainbow~

hahah, I think sound funny now...

When everyone else is drooling over these guys and we fujoshis/fudanshis be like:

 

12751383_196990054001344_515236023_n.jpg?ig_cache_key=MTIwNDIwNjk2MDIyNDMxMDc3MA%3D%3D.2

 

My new ho song: Charli XCX's Boys

 

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[RED] and [bLUE]

 

I have this feeling, a rather sick one, that maybe, just maybe, I'm trying hard a bit too much. It's weird, actually, because if I summarize my life, which is not that much yet, this moment right here might be my most stable, most contented state. Don't get me wrong, I still and do dream. Yet even with comfort from my parents and the relative security of a city around me, I feel that I lack something substantial, something that if I fail to acquire, I fear that I would have to live onwards as an empty shell of sorts. Am I making sense? I guess I don't have to be. I mean, who the fuck even cares anyway? I scroll down and down and down again, only to find that if I must reach the end, I must be ready to give everything that is of mine, which is, admittedly, not a lot. Weird. After a lot of rest, I should be fully recharged by now, but then I feel just as tired as I started. Maybe I really am trying a bit too much, and that maybe I should... I guess I shouldn't say it. It would not help me in any way anyway. I can't turn back now. I'm not saying that doubting one's past decisions is wimpy but... Yeah, maybe I am...? By reaching this point, I have to say that I at least concluded on one thing, and that is I feel unsure of myself as fuck. Apologies for the cusses, but I bet you won't believe my sorry anyway. Maybe I was trying a bit too much. Is that a turn off for some? Not to be too self engrossed, and I'm guessing that I'm not the only one to think this, but I do like to think myself as the most sincere person I know. Take note of the 'I know'. It means that I am assuming that even though there are an infinite number of people more genuine than I am, it's a safe bet that I don't know them and even if I do, they probably haven't opened up enough for me to tell. Why do I feel like this entry is entering too many detours? Yeah, so I'm really sincere. Mostly I'm a klutz who likes to binge on everything which explains my weird interpretation on the word discipline. I work when I work but I play hard when I play. I'm not very extreme, but I like to do things passionately, since in the first place I would not begin something that I would not see through until the end. Also, I'm not the most perfect...wait, I lost my train of thought... I'm so fucking sleepy right now so... Well, to hell with this entry.

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Copper sulfate is so beautiful. Don't you think so?

 

 

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For the first time, I was in a difficult spot, a desperate position. And yet I didn't need a double eleven, a shooting star, a wish. For the first time, I thought I could do it with my own strength. That instant, I believed. And I asked myself why one earth I have always thought I could not. Inside me is endless power. In my heart resides boundless potential. I may have been lost all this time, and sometime later in the future, I definitely will. Nothing is absolute, so these fickle things are, in the end, all that matter. The little things, the simple memories. A forgotten brush, a weathered shoelace. Mundane things, and yet they are what allow us to remember that despite invisibility, there are others present, entities that are someday worth caressing. As always and will ever be, I shall remain as a ghost among a sea of people, yet the ever blinding sun in my very own universe, right here, inside my head. There is no one else as puzzled as I am, as comfortable as I am, as critical and badmouthed as I am in my head. I may not understand myself, yet I know myself the best. Anyone who claims to be so is either mistaken and arrogant, or the person who would be what we call my better half. But why do we call our significant others our other half? All of them will be me, and all of me will be them. Our lives will interlap, superimposed in such a way that the lines between us blur, that the differences and similarities stand out for a moment, only to be dismissed the next. But then there will always be the option of being just one. Sometimes empty, sometimes half full, but at least the adventure is yours. Completely. No one controls when you breath, when your heart beats. And as you stretch your arms to meet the sky, maybe, just maybe, our fingers will meet. When that happens, would you hold my hand then?

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- - - Updated - - -

 

posted on the same day as previous post but written on a different date.

 

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Eventually, I just grew tired of myself, and I yearned to grow out of it, the shell like life I've been living. Circles, in circles, the stories go. Beautifully made or grossly done, all of them are the same. My words are utterly limited, and only with my closed eyes do I see the skies and the vastness beyond. I keep worrying over the smallest of details, the most trivial of ones when all I have ever wanted to feel with my fingers is the cold, damp soil beneath my feet. Swimming in air as I have, soon I will run out of sun to breath. When such a time comes, would I feel my blood buzzing more than it ever has? Or will it swirl like it always has? I long for a pounding right here, deep in my chest, any sign that I am still alive, and that all of this is not for nothing, that I am truly heading someplace lovely and bright, ruthless and cruel. An exciting path yet to be treaded on while holding the hand of a stranger from my past. If such an adventure awaits, allow me to finish this quest first, although as dried up as I am.

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Often I shower with my eyes closed. And the light turned off.

And in my head is a song that goes dut-du-du-du.

There is nothing in this space except the coldness of the water, and me in my nakedness.

The fine droplets weigh heavier as my humming echoes against the damp tiles.

Firmly, my hair tucked high and into a messed bun, a few of the strands escape and stick to my neck.

Here in this one square meter stall do I allow all my imperfections and my talents become the same thing.

The bit of dirt that has started clinging onto the bottom of the curtain silently watches as I step out of my skin, and I massage my fatigued muscles.

Tired of living, but finding it extremely entertaining.

This contrast, this instability is what I have probably longed for all this time, and only do I feel its caress when I'm in the shower.

The soap in my hand smells like a hundred yesterdays and a thousand lifetimes, a million romances and a single breath.

Melt as it does, still it keeps me company, and gives me dreams like the bubbles it make which live and die in abrupt intervals.

When I shower, I become fully aware that there are persons that I probably will never please.

The lady in the stall next to mine slams her shower things and I figure that her day did not go well.

Sometimes a pair of friends enter a stall at the same time and I am forced to listen to them talk about their nipples and bellybuttons, their hair and their fat.

Awkward yet oddly satisfying. Eventually I am wrapped in all sorts of wondrous smells.

My shampoo, my soap, the detergent I used to wash my underwear, my deodorant, lotion, the sun kissed clothes I wear.

With a sigh, I undo my bun, and my hair cascades in wild tangles around my shoulders.

In my mind I listen to the stories I tell, and I find myself far from lonely.

After a nice shower, who would be?

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I tend to only consider the goodness or complexity of things. I look away from the selfishness, the ingratitude and the plasticity. I try to be open minded, neutrally accepting, an approachable person, only to find myself taken advantage of. To make matters worse, I do not realize it until I have already been stolen of my fingers, the parts of me that I have so naively and recklessly offered to others. I do not remember doing the things I do to be out of kindness, for I am far from kind. I do what I do because I think things would turn out interesting. I am a writer, or more accurately, an enthusiast. I love stories. I like to hear them, to create them, to co create, to make fan fiction of them. I am not the slightest bit nice nor gentle, but I would like to be. Sometimes. If the story turns out better that way, then why not? Just that, if I'm not careful, I might find myself only a shell of what I have been all this time. Thinking just of this gives me a horrible feeling that maybe all my efforts would have been better unmade, just like the bed I come home to every night. But even with the fear of being used, broken and thrown out, I will not hesitate. Probably. I mean, while thinking of having nothing to lose and going for a sweet treat after being hurt hardly scares me anymore. Because I am aware that somehow, to some degree, I myself have used and hurt and slapped people in the face, rubbed salt on their wounds and added fuel to their problems. We all hurt each other in some way. It's annoying and a pain in the ass, but that's just how it goes. Having fun times together far outweighs the bad times anyway. So the next time I find myself crying for a reason so stupid, I'll look myself in the face, look closely, and celebrate. Because I am still alive, I'm still an idiot, and I am in love with myself.

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lose focus.

I close my eyes and go to sleep

My mind is fuller than ever.

Twinkles and shivers, the flowers

say

"One, two, and poof,"

Little of the truth did I know of.

Sighing out my monsters for

naught

I realized that none of my efforts

was relevant.

Tic tac on my tippy toes

The floor grows colder and I lose

focus

I perfectly understand how I

misunderstood imperfectly.

Perhaps there is a grander reason

Why I chose to zip myself open

Only when I am alone do I speak

clearly

Like raindrops on a day sultry.

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Being the Mayor for a college society is a sad thing, especially when your officers don't give a shit about anything.

 

SORRY FOR THE LANGUAGE. I'M JUST SO STRESSED.

:Sad:

 

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I miss going to bed early. I miss waking up late. I miss staying in even when I'm already awake. A thousand message threads and non of them really mean anything. Except perhaps my mom's I love you's and my sister's ramblings, my friend's comforts and the ever annoying billing reminder. I get the feeling that I have failed to take care of myself properly lately. I can't even finish the book I'm reading. Some weeks back my sister gave me a facial mask as a New Year's gift, and everyday I tell myself that definitely, surely by next weekend I shall and will use it. But then I get distracted with manga and anime, movies and drama CDs, posters and porn, cats and food. I hardly pause for a quick breathe. In. Out. Again and again. Every night before I finish my reflections, I collapse my way into a dreamless sleep which always ends without notice, and then I am jolted viciously awake by next morning. For only just a short time I find myself nearing the edge. I must admit, I did not see this coming, not really. I thought I could bear it all through brute force, but now I know I can't. I need help, but no one else realizes this. No one. Even to me, the shit I say sounds no different from excuses. That person, this episode, the damn fucking homework. I blame too many things that I have no fingers left. Pointing at everything like a seasoned hypocrite. Without a hint of shame. In the nights, in the beats of momentary rest, I am alone. I climb to bed by myself, and I tell myself goodnight just in case I fall asleep without realizing again. I may have not reached extreme loneliness, but there is an emptiness right here in my chest. Not enough to destroy, but poison enough to hurt. Blurrier than ever, the lines I tread on. A past friend does not matter more than the stranger by my side. But since I am nearing collapse, I whisper my wishes and kiss my thoughts away.

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I'D LIKE TO WARN THAT THE FOLLOWING TEXT GREATLY IMPLIES SELF NEGATIVITY. IF YOU'RE NOT UP FOR IT, I OFFER KOROSENSEI, who always reminds us to "polish your second knives"

 

So there is a series of journal entries I would like to share. These entries were written in January 2018, a time when I was so, so stressed that I started thinking and wondering how shoelaces would feel if I wrapped them around my neck and pulled tight.

 

 

January 24, 2018 11:18

I feel bullied. But maybe it's just me. I don't know. In this city, no one is my friend. There is only me and the voices in my head, and the callings of my stomach, the stinging in my eyes, the throbbing in my head. There is nothing, no one else. One would think how wonderful it would be to be surrounded by so many specimens. But there is me. There I am. That solitary figure by the corner. I am alone. And I have no one.

 

 

January 25, 2018 22:55

Maybe I should cry for help. Maybe I should kill myself...

 

I looked at the mirror only to find it funny how pathetic I looked. Swollen red eyes, wrinkles on my forehead, bitten down lips. So stupid, so pitiful.

 

I lay on my bed, staring into the blank darkness, the vast unfairness. With music whispering in my ears, I feel myself struggle with every breath and a little twitch jolt my finger. Sometimes it's easier to drift away, outside of my own body and watch myself, just there, lying and doing nothing. Neither sleeping or awake. Sometimes it's easier to be nothing.

 

There is a stinging at the back of my eyes and an emptiness in my stomach, a heavy, heavy burden here in my chest. To receive blessings is actually a form of cruelty. I cannot run away. Shoved down my throat, I smile and endure everything. I cannot run away.

 

Sail away. Far, far, so far away. Further, more and more. Until I recognize nothing, until I see nothing. Farther away, until there is only the end, the edge and myself. Then I will look down, down into the mouth of despair, the open maw of nothingness. Bliss.

 

Please. No more.

 

 

January 25, 2018 23:21

Please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please please please please help me please please please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please help me please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please help me.

 

 

January 28, 2018 1:41

And the moment was past.

 

 

 

END

 

So two days after I broke down I wrote "the moment was past". It means that the soldier was at ease. So many things had converged that, as a student living away from my family, I had to settle for a phone call with my parents and that two hour talk really saved me. I badly needed someone to listen and I was fortunate enough to have not just one, but three: my ambitious mother who says " aim higher!", my stoic father who says "that's not even hard to do", and my carefree sister who says "eyy, five or ten years from now you'll laugh at yourself"... Put these souls together and I had my antidote. People really need to talk it out, cry it out, binge-eat it out. Don't bottle it up. What are you,a collector?

 

Also, I'd like to share that on the morning of January 26, I got so weirded out by the number of " help me's" I wrote. It was so alarming that I slapped myself and told myself to "get it together." I can't be the only one swinging back and forth, loving and hating myself like this, right?

 

I lost all my roommates this semester, see, because they moved to other rooms with their new friends. So I was really worried that I kept thinking of stupid, stupid things and playing with fire and matches because there was no need to display manners to.

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Written while listening to Winner's Different.

 

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Do I really need to choose? An angel or a demon. Can't I be something that's in between? Making mistakes just like everyone else, failing like everyone else. Yearning and faking, even being dishonest to myself. Time is a merciless creature. Like an oasis seeming to be forgiving yet turning out to be just an illusion, fizzling like bubbles in a sugary drink. Torn between chasing a passion and succumbing to resignation. Maybe I am just different. I cannot chose, for both sides of myself is true. My past collapses and my tomorrow weeps at my present who is barely moving, trying to survive. It's too much, life is. Like a woman so irresistible, so dangerous but captures your breath at the most unexpected of moments. Then I find myself wanting more. Tired and wanting for more. Nothing can ever come close to shameless than this. But is shameless a bad thing? I cannot chose. Confusion is a funny thing. The more you learn the foggier the answer gets. Maybe I am just different. Inside me is a vastness waiting to be filled yet I embrace this, this emptiness. Disappointment towards myself. Disillusionment towards myself. When did I start thinking I could conquer the world? When did I start thinking I could be better? I seem to be running in circles and as I complete each lap, I hear myself screaming louder and louder until my ears, my heart cannot take no more. It's too painful. Each step means giving too much while knowing there will be no returns. I am exhausting myself like this everyday. I try to trust myself blindly, just like I always have. But the older I get I find it harder to believe in anything. Even the stars change, betraying me like a stray cat would. Yet there are those sweet moments when I just woke up, when I am faced with the decision to live or not, to breathe or not, to hang or not, to try or not. And each time I fold my blanket, leave my bed and take a shower, put on make up and leave my room, I feel a piece of myself shed, like the snake's old skin. I have died a thousand, a million times. I am a fragment nearing zero. Maybe I am just different. I cannot let this go. I gave too much to give up on this. I cannot choose. Closing my eyes is probably the only solace my God has given me. From His holy seat in high heaven, He watches me. He watches. Only. That is all He ever does. But I should be thankful still, I guess. Rewriting the past might be easier, foretelling the future might be easier. Sleeping might be easier. Dying might be easier. But is it better? Is it happiness ahead? Fulfilment. I must be arrogant for thinking I can make myself happy, but it is not like someone else can. I cannot chose. Maybe I am just different.

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A motivational entry written while listening to this beautiful Mushishi OST

 

[video=youtube_share;9Z8nzhKYU2w]

I felt very at peace writing this. I was conversing with my past selves and my future bruised selves, telling myself to be strong because when the storm is past, there is always something beautiful to look forward to after the end. I hope more people in the world feel the same way I did as I was writing this, especially during this era when depression has become a natural occurrence.

 

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Listen to me and only me.

There is a myriad of stars right outside your window. An entire cavalry of roads and open skies waiting to be treaded on. There far out into the horizon is the open sea stretched out, waiting for your embrace. Can you feel it? Close your eyes and trust me. Don't be afraid, breathe. Swallow the sweetness of the morning air, the scent of shivering dew on bent leaves. Stillness is now your friend, when beauty is your mother. There is much in this universe to be appreciated, much more in this world to be told in stories. Life has not abandoned you. I swear it. I swear it upon the very wind that fingers your hair. I swear it upon the warm skin of a loved one. I swear it upon the very rush of your heart beating inside your chest. You are alive and you are today. You are fate incarnate, and you may grow like the hard earned crops of the earth. Steady now, spread your body. You have yourself, and you are enough. Whisper to me your darkest secrets, your most painful of memories and heaviest of burdens. Tell me you are tired. Even the most resilient of birds are pained by the rain. Even the wisest of snow fall on disturbed waters. You may be suffering, but all of it will pass one day. I swear it. Close your eyes and take my hand. Trust me that I will never let go. Just focus on me. Listen to me and only me.

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