What I Think…

I wasn’t into romances much, seeing it as a sort of wasteful time and wishful thinking of something that will never happen to me, but in others I like it. 

Well, only if they showed in a loving manner. 

And I don’t mean like pushing up against each other like they’re about to sex-it-up right then and there. I mean the look, the eyes, that stare that clearly tells me what they’re thinking. They’re literally saying out loud to me:

‘How did I ever fall in love with you…?’

And they stare in wonderment, and amazement. Completely aghast in this phenomenal feeling of finding the one person you have been waiting for. The time when you could not stop but look and wonder how did you ever met such an amazing person, and where that person had been this whole time. You feel so left out, and you silently wonder what if, just what if you met this person when you were younger, when you could have more experiences together and enjoy life together. That one key word, ‘together’, rings through your mind whilst you stare at the person of interest; completely taken away.

Or atleast, that’s what I think love is. It could be just admiration, y’know. 

You see, I’ve already had my first taste of love, and it was very, very, bitter. So bitter, I don’t want to fall in love again. It is a wishful thinking and it will most likely to never happen again. But even so, I am human, and the one thing we do best is doubt. I doubt I’ll never get a lover, and sometimes, I doubt that someone would tell me I’m ugly.

But most of the time, my mind is too preoccupied with repeating degrading words and hurtful comments about myself. 

I do admit, I do not shame my body as much as I did as a child, but now I’m most shaming myself at how selfish I am and how I can never please others. I know I can’t please everyone, but I always make an attempt to make them smile. But in that progress, I hit myself even harder for not ‘accomplishing even the most simplest tasks’. It’s not easy accepting that there are things I can and can’t do.

I know one day I’ll stare at a person in awe as I feel that I will melt if that person so much as look at me back, but like every human, I doubt that’ll ever happen. I don’t even think it’s plausible. It’s this constant debate on whether or not I’m suitable for even a person. Am I even likable? Do I make you laugh? Are we good together?

Am I even worth your time?

‘Most of the answers are no.’ Whispers my heart, and in the dark nights it would cry and curl up. Just hoping that maybe one day, another person will interrupt her cries with a simple hug and kiss. He would even allow her to cuddle with him as she sniffles to sleep, wondering how a person like him even acknowledge a girl like her.

Yeah… I doubt that’ll ever happen to me.

How to be a Teen Writer Without Making Me Want to Punch You in the Face

The Little Engine that Couldn't

[Disclaimer: I don’t actually want to punch anyone in the face. At the most I’ll give them a disappointed look and maybe make fun of their shoes.]

I strongly support teenage writers. Most of them are pretty cool, and with some you could just tell they’re going to become famous authors one day. Hell, some of them already are.

Still, when it comes to writing and literature, teenagers are constantly looked down upon. There are some people who immediately stop listening to what you’re saying once they find out your age. This actually happened to me once with another blogger. We were getting along just fine, having a nice conversation about Neil Gaiman, and then she found out I was fifteen and never answered back.

While I’ve never actually heard an adult say, “Oh, you’re just a teen. You can’t write,” or anything as obnoxiously condescending as that, I do…

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A Letter to My Introvert Child

Kimchi Latkes

Dear Mouse,

You went to a birthday party today and your father’s report was… well, not great.  It seems you spent most of the time being a barnacle on your daddy’s leg, despite the kind efforts of other kids to get you to play.  In fact, your daddy told me you were pretty unkind to one of the kids, and that hurt my heart a bit.

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Who’s Afraid of Totoro?

oudonquijote

It is a misunderstood culture. You will never find a more wretched hive of body odor and social awkwardness than at the conventions. The clubs are the toddler-fenced play space for would-be autocrats. Every fan seems to be wearing a garish costume and haphazardly tossing foreign words into his speech (fitting the pronoun, the fans are predominately male). America has embraced Comic-Con; that is, sexy people like Michael Fassbender and Charlize Theron can go there without having to fear anything more than adoring fans, let alone social disgrace. But will we embrace anime? And why should we?

Hayao Miyazaki recently retired from making feature films. The goal here is to persuade you to care, if you don’t already, but first to try to determine why you might not care at the moment.

Miyazaki-san is the co-founder of Studio Ghibli, which is, in essence, the Pixar of East Asia (so Pixar-like…

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Him and His Annoying–

Prompt: Tell us about your writing space. Where do you write your blog posts?

In school, evidently. I have more time in school during the day than at home; which is rustling and bustling with humans from my brothers’ or sisters’ friends.

I never bring my friends over.

I don’t think there are any friends I can allow to enter my home; my domicile; the land that is ruled by the King and Queen, and I am a simple princess who stays locked up in her high tower.

Not like I need a prince to get me down.‘Tis lonely, perhaps, but most of the time, I enjoy the peace in my tower; out of reach, out of sight, out of mind.

Supposedly, there are special events withheld in my educational institution. But they are filled with lifeless zombies and unicorns who are full of themselves. I am simple.

Simple, clever, and quiet.

I only need the darkness to entertain my thoughts and the use of those unicorns, lizards, and zombies. The pixies are the worst.

Pixies are more full of themselves than the unicorns; the magic-horse is always galloping around and is rather kind but slightly obnoxious. Imagine pixies huddling together and whispering noise of nauseating words to each other. 

“Who’s this?”

“Who’s that?”

Such hideous creatures, they need not the knowledge He carries.

He is a pixie; like them in His beating fluttering wings and His pompous attitude. He attracts all kinds of unicorns and pixies to Him; occasionally the zombie and the lizards to His grace. Such a fowl being.

But I, myself, cannot hide the fact that I do find some interest in that being of His. 

What makes Him so intriguing. I wish to find out more, but alas, that pixie is just a pixie. I’ll simply hide out in my tower.

Out of sight, out of mind. Out of–

“Hi, Carla!”

…shit.

Sherlock Holmes Fan

Prompt: Who is your favorite character of all time?

 He goes by the name of Sherlock Holmes. Nothing more amazing than an intelligent man, but what’s more intriguing is his cynical nature. He is most certainly human, just perfectly intelligent. And it’s comical, sometimes, to see how Sherlock acts with his trusted partner, Watson.

(from ‘The Hounds of Baskerville’ from BBC’s ‘Sherlock’)

Sherlock Holmes: We’re looking for a dog, yes, a great big dog, that’s your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien. Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start? How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer’s yes.

Dr. John Watson: Yes?

Sherlock Holmes: She’s got a West Highland terrier called Whisky. Not exactly what we’re looking for.

Dr. John Watson: Oh, Sherlock, for God’s sake…

Sherlock Holmes: Look at the jumper he’s wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly he’s uncomfortable in it. Maybe it’s because of the material; more likely the hideous pattern, suggesting it’s a present, probably Christmas. So he wants into his mother’s good books. Why? Almost certainly money. He’s treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he’s trying to economize on his own food.

Dr. John Watson: Well, maybe he’s just not hungry.

Sherlock Holmes: No, small plate. Starter. He’s practically licked it clean. She’s nearly finished her pavlova. If she’d treated him, he’d have had as much as he wanted. He’s hungry all right, and not well off – you can tell that by the state of his cuffs and shoes.

Sherlock Holmes: [Imitates John] “How d’you know she’s his mother?” Who else would give him a Christmas present like that? Well, it could be an aunt or an elder sister, but mother’s more likely. Now, he was a fisherman. Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive – fish hooks. They’re all quite old now, which suggests he’s been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he’s turned to his widowed mother for help.

Sherlock Holmes: [Imitates John again] “Widowed?” Yes, obviously. She’s got a man’s wedding ring on a chain round her neck – clearly her late husband’s and too big for her finger. She’s well-dressed but her jewellery’s cheap. She could afford better, but she’s kept it – it’s sentimental. Now, the dog: tiny little hairs all over the leg from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it’s a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact it is – a West Highland terrier called Whisky.

Sherlock Holmes: [Imitates John again] “How the hell do you know that, Sherlock?” ‘Cause she was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name and that’s not cheating, that’s listening, I use my senses, John, unlike some people, so you see, I am fine, in fact I’ve never been better, so just LEAVE ME ALONE!

Ah… I think I’m in love…