Dull musings of my troubled mind

“Sad words are just another beauty. A sad story means, this storyteller is alive. The next thing you know, something fine will happen to her, something marvelous, and then she will turn around and smile." -

Little Bee by Chris Cleave

The consuming shade of the dark night suffocating her sight, the aggravating serenity wrapping around every empty space of the room, with nothing but the intoxicating whispers of still air hitting her eardrum, they invite nothing but self-reflecting thoughts to enter her mind with such force leaving her no choice but to give in. Then she heard whispers. They had come back. The little monsters had come back. Sometimes she wonders why when all she had had been destroyed by them. All the little strains of hope, the every little ounce of dreams she have left, all gone, all thanks to their whispers. yet they still came when all that is left for them to devastate had already been wiped clean by their wrath. Defeated and hopeless, she lied on her bed, absorbing every whisper, drops of opalescent tears she let beaming down, so lost, so irrepairable until at one point there, she was close to being dead. But she wasn't.

Once upon a time, perpetual jubilation had itself woven solidly to my soul. When all the motivation I needed could be found within I, myself and no one else. When I was so secure that I didn't even bother to demand myself to build walls. Instead, I built bridges. Those times I pretty much got everything I wanted, just because I had such an enduring belief in myself. I was free to be whoever I wanted to be. As bright as the stars above I shone. How amazing it is that all above sounds immensely ironic now?

I ponder sometimes where, exactly, down the road I've crossed, could I have lost myself? If only God permit to allow me to go back down the paths I'd ever laid my feet on, and search for the lost, shattered pieces that would perfectly fit together to form who I used to be, so I could be alive and be me again. Is hope substantial enough? Though immeasurable doubt tries its hardest to cloud my spirit, I have to believe it's possible, or else I might as well be dead. 

I hope along all the roads I will cross, I will find something, or maybe even someone, to remind me of how wonderful my life once had been, when I didn't ever find the need to bring about constant comparison between myself and other people. When I was capable of being genuinely happy about myself. This I am very profoundly unsure of, but I hope someday, I will find it in me to utter these words;

"I will stop to have ugly thoughts about myself. 

I like me and I don't want to be somebody else but myself."

Yeah...someday.

"I think it's the words you don't say that haunts you the longest." - Taylor Swift

I forgot the joy of unbottling your feelings and turning them into words. I forgot how much relief that could bring. I always face the truggle of finding the right words to potray exactly what I'm feeling or going through. Sometimes it's because I'm always at a loss of words; don't ask me why 'cause i dont know. But most of the times it's because of the fear of judgements I may receive for what I write. And that right there, ladies and gentlemens is the only reason why I don't go around announcing my blog to everybody.

To those who I do tell my blog to, I demand you to feel lucky 'cause have you any idea how much it takes to confess that this shitty-full-of-emo-bullshit blog is actually mine? Yeah you are friggin welcome. Oh and to those who already knew the existence of my blog, please don't tell anyone that. Why? I'll tell you why. I just don't want to be judged. Okay I know this is lame but hey, I am allowed to have insecurities. I don't want any people to give me looks and shits if they ever find out about this little secret of mine and i'm telling ya, you do not want that to happen to even your worst ex-girlfriends/boyfriends.

On another note, I am one of the proud earthlings that lived through 11.11.11 and to those of you who aren't feeling it, if you know what i'm saying, do start feeling lucky 'cause it won't happen again in 100 years.

A walking travesty, but smiles in everything.

Every time her eyes catches the glimpse of innocence swimming through their every glance, silently her heart would pray for it to never escape their eyes. For her retinas, little childrens are a treasure. They are the moving pictures of what she used to be before her mind wasn't haunted by the orthodox views of society.

She remembers when looks didnt matter. She remembers it all very well. The times when differences aren't visible to the eyes, when the heart and mind held nothing but beautiful thoughts,when forced laughters and fake smiles didn't even exist in the vocabulary. As she flips through the pages of her adolescence and all its glory, she tries to recall the moments when 'fun' actually meant fun. The vivid images of her younger self begins knocking the door of her memory, every lines of joy on her face clearly seen, not a hint of sorrow even. She remembers now. How happy she was back then. She is then stuck on one question. One question she needed the answer so badly; who has she become?

Seems like she's getting worse by the years. Those judgmental mortals can only speculate, but not understand. Those mortals can only see the cover, but not the pages. When all they can afford to lay eyes on is the front stage, but nobody has the courage to stretch their views behind the scene of what is actually happening beneath all the plays she managed to act through. When all she wanted to be was happy, yet all that she is left with is suffocating trails of regret. She always knew the way out. It's not because she refused to set herself free, but because she lacks the courage. The courage of doing what is right. She would be much happier if she would just care less. She knew that. And she tried. But she failed.

Watching little childrens having the time of their lives, getting all content over little things never fails to trigger her secret little desire to be just like them. To have not a single care in the world, to be happy with what she have, and most importantly, to be happy with herself. But who is she kidding? She's way to messed up now. There is no way of turning back.

"Dear young hearts, please don't ever change. If only you have the slightest idea how much of a treasure you really are. Please know how wonderful your minds are. They are ones even adults would kill to have. You are going to get older, and somewhere along the road, you'll realise words can hold such power to make even the most beautiful person be in denial of their own beauty. People will tell you how "pretty" is supposed to look like, how you are supposed to dress in order to be accepted, and the other rules. But you know what? Don't friggin listen. Don't let them tell you how "you" are supposed to be. You, your body, and your mind are all yours. They don't have the right to change that. So please don't let them corrode you. Fitting in feels great, I know. But you know what's not though? When you have to deny who you really are and force yourself into becoming another person who you don't even feel right being just because you want to be accepted. No matter what you do, please don't ever change.You are amazing just the way you are and I hate saying this because it sounds like that one Bruno Mars's song but what can I say, that dude speak of the truth. Oh one more thing. Don't ever forget how beautiful you are. Even for one second. Promise?"

Love,

Yours truly.