An End and A Beginning

     For those who don't know, my college officially ended last month. The students of my batch no longer have the obligation to attend college, and we have technically graduated although the official ceremony will only be conducted next year. We only have to come on days where we have our finals. The thing is, I've had this whole last-day-of-college vision in my head. I imagined lots of tears, coming from me. I imagined this empty and heavy feeling in my chest because I had to leave my second home. I imagined this ache of not being able to see my friends again, since our cities and towns are hours and hours apart. But I didn't feel those. And I don't know what to make of it.

     Don't get me wrong. I loved everything about coming here. I loved the city, I loved the environment, I loved the people. I learned to make friends by myself instead of doing it through mutual friends. I learned how to take the train. I learned to choke down my own-cooked food even when it's awful and takes on an unexplainable shape. This whole experience has been so kind to me. I was happy, I was free, I was light. It wasn't as stressful as I thought it would be, and the people I've become acquainted with are now such a big part of my life. All these only contradict how neutral I feel about leaving. Instead of looming on the big sad fact that all this will be over soon, I found myself making plans. When to move out of my hostel. What jobs to get. Part-time or freelance. How much will I earn. What new language should I pick up. Should I start an online business. How do I handle airport procedures. Which country should I fly off to next.

     For someone who loved everything about college (except Chemistry), I surprised myself when I realized that I am able to move on very soon without missing that much of it. Maybe the feelings would only hit me after everything actually ends, but as of now, I'm just drifting from place to place, moment to moment, time to time. I take the train back to my hometown when I need to, and I take the train back to the city when I have exams. If I see you, cool, we hang out for a while. If we don't, it's cool too, we both have stuff going on in our lives. Is this how things are supposed to be? Shouldn't I be doing some, I don't know, pre-reminiscing, or something?

     Hence, I came up with two explanations. One, I am a cold-blooded asshole who forms no emotional bonds and only cares about herself. Two, the unconscious part of me has acknowledged that it is time to leave. Like it did with school, you know? Sure, it was sad leaving the people I've been around for 11 years, but we all knew it was time. Time to move on to the next chapter, and greet the people who will be there to welcome us. Time to see what's in store for us next.

     All the people you've met will remain with you. They've fed you with experience, making you grow with time. In this way, you carry them with you. Remember the people who changed your perspectives. Who taught you that society is not all roses and no thorns. Who taught you how to stand up for yourself. Who made you realize that you really do not have it that bad. Who showed you that you still have plenty of room for improvements. Who inspired you to go further than you ever did.

For a Friend

I have this friend in college who talks openly about his emotions on facebook. That is his way of expressing what he feels, the same way bloggers express their thoughts through their respective blogs. Yesterday, he revealed how he had a friend in primary school whom he considered his best friend but the person did not consider him the same. He still seem sad about this when he thinks back, and I'm here to say that he should move on. I'm saying this in the most affectionate way possible. To be honest, I think most of us went through that. I think I did too, but it's so far back that I don't even remember who it was. The point is, he has a new life now, surrounded by new friends. And trust me, he is loved dearly by us all. We might not show it all the time, openly, but some of us show it through our actions.

I sent this friend the link to this post. And this is my message to him. Stop worrying about losing your friends. Cause we all appreciate you very much, wws. Stop overthinking, and stop assuming that you are less important than any of us. We are all significant, important, and loved. So are you. Remember that.

Just needed to write; sorry that my paragraphs are messy

Almost everybody has this thing where they want to be different. Special. Significant. Everybody wants to be remembered. Everybody wants to be missed when they are not around. Like when your friends are hanging out and you couldn’t make it, you wish they would go, “Oh, I wish she was here. It would be so much more fun.” I want that. So much. I want to be the kind of friend nobody wants to lose and nobody will forget. I also take pride in how different I am. However, on some days I wish I wasn’t as different as everyone around me. As if people can never click with me completely because there are so many layers to me. I can’t seem to decide on one personality to act around specific people. Christ, I have more layers than a fucking onion. And I hate my mood swings. I fucking hate them. One minute I’m so, so happy, and the next, one small thing happens and I feel fucking worthless and I just want to stop existing. I want to stop being a slave to my sadness, and I want to stop being such an odd individual. Sure, being different is generally a good thing because at least you’re not boring, but look at how the interesting people turn out to be. Most of them become writers and poets. And they die miserably. Alone. I don’t want to end up like Charles Bukowski and Sylvia Plath (Although Plath did get married, she suffered from depression through most of her adult years). They were so trapped in their own minds that they forgot how to connect with the world outside.

Talking about sadness, there is only one reason which makes me sad these days. And that reason, unfortunately, is a person. Now you know what I’m talking about. No, I am not in love with this person, nor would I die for this person or want to end up with this person, but seeing him choosing someone else over me still hurts. Oh, by ‘choosing someone else over me’ does not mean that they’re dating, because they’re not. They’re close friends, like how I wish we could be. But we have never been compatible and every day feels more awkward than the day before. The fact that we used to closer than this is the reason behind my sadness. Where did I go wrong? I want back the friendship we once had, when no bullshit feelings were involved. I guess I was the one who ruined things.

Okay, I was not supposed to write that out to the internet, just in case anyone from my college finds this blog. That would be a disaster. I’m not the type of person to promote this site. I stopped doing that when I was like 14, when I realized that this is an outlet for me, and only the people I trust enough should be allowed into my head. So, I’m switching topics. I want my fears to stop restricting me from the things normal teenagers should be doing. I want to stop being that cowardly friend who stays outside waiting while the rest of her friends enter a scream park. I want to stop making everyone change their movie plans for me just because I wouldn’t go for Annabelle or Ouija. The thing is, I do not like being scared. I don’t see the point of it. My fear of the supernatural has come in between me and my friends when we hang out. I am missing out on opportunities and making memories. I want to stop missing out and stop being an outsider. How many years has this been going on? From secondary school all the way to college? My best friends are completely fine with this of course, but they can’t be with me all the way.

Anyway, this post is not going anywhere. I’m writing rubbish at midnight (It is actually way past midnight at my place). Funny, I always write rubbish. I guess the bottom line is, I just want to be happy and be satisfied with myself. To feel appreciated. Have people thank me for the love and attention I give them. I want to be enough. Enough for myself, for my family, and for the people around me.

Thalia // The Hunger Games One-Shot

//Hi everyone. This is a Hunger Games one-shot I wrote when I was sixteen. I am actually quite proud of this work, among all the other embarrassing works I have produced. Thalia is a fictional character of my own creation. Through the story you will figure out who she is. I hope you will come to like this little piece. Please leave me a feedback, either a positive one or a negative one. Thank you for spending your time on my blog.//

The story begins after this scene.

THALIA

I lifted the small girl off the cold metal floor of the hovercraft and gently laid her down on the bed. Then I pulled the spear out of her stomach, half the blade covered by her blood. Rue, that’s her name. Poor thing, she’s just twelve. Twelve. And she died with a spear in her stomach. I observed Rue from close for the first time. She has smooth dark skin, and an innocent pretty face framed with small dark brown curls. Some of the flowers are still stuck in her hair, and I didn’t bother to pull them out. Katniss did the right thing after all. I knew she wanted to show Panem that the tributes were not just a part of their ‘show’. Katniss has always been a strong and dignified person. People all around the Capitol called her ‘The Girl on Fire’, and they’re right. She has the flame in her. She never lets anything control her life or stand in her way, not even in the Games. Sometimes she reminded me so much of myself. Before I was captured and imprisoned in the Capitol, that is.

Ever since I found out that Katniss took Prim’s place in the Games, I was very nervous, scared even. As someone who’s been working on this hovercraft for years, of course I would be. Every year I see young children dead with blood all over. Some had their hands bitten off by the Gamemakers’ creatures, some were completely burnt by the wildfire, some died of snake venoms and of course, some with spears and arrows in their bodies.

I looked down from the tiny window of the hovercraft. Katniss was no longer in the clearing. She moved on quick and sleek, like a fox, not risking anything. She’s clearly a good hunter. Having been watched her for two whole weeks in the control room, she’s evidently used to the woods, that to her, hunting and staying alive were second instinct. I was surprised by her ability to use bows. I was never good with bows. I was more of a dart person, which was almost useless when it comes to hunting. Most of the time I had to rely on my traps.

When Katniss had Rue in her arms earlier, she was crying and singing her a lullaby. Dad’s lullaby, I recognized. So Dad taught Katniss the song too. Of course he did. She was his daughter too, after all. I was sure Prim has also heard of the lullaby before, Katniss must have sang it to her on her sleepless nights. Dad used to do the same thing to me.

Suddenly a wave of memories hit me hard. I miss Mom, I realized. I miss District 12, even though it’s nothing much. I miss the woods and the mockingjays. I miss the smell of fresh bread coming out from Bread Boy’s bakery. What’s his name again? Peter? Percy? Anyway, I know what – or who, rather - I miss most. Dad.

When Mom told me in her letter that Dad died in a mine explosion, I didn’t believe her. I couldn’t believe her. Dad has always been a tough lad, like Katniss and I, and the complete opposite of Mom and Prim. He couldn’t have just died like that. I know it better than anyone else, I believe. He had been bitten by a Brown Widow before, but he survived. He almost got carried away by the river at the edge of the woods and be gone forever, but he managed to cling himself to a log and pulled himself up, fighting the strong current with all his energy. He even almost took a bite from a nightlock berry, but at the very same time a rabbit happened to pass through the bush and died around a minute later because of the berry.

So you see, Dad narrowly escaped Death many times. To me he was always a survivor, a fighter. He’s a man who considered taking care of his family his number one priority. He’s a man who would never leave us alone. Dad used to tell me, “Lia, be a good hunter so that if Dad’s not here one day, you’ll be able to feed our family. Understand?” And I told him, “No Dad, you’ll always be here to take care of us.” But now he isn’t, because of a stupid mine explosion. And I didn’t even get to catch a glimpse of him before he left us forever.

My neighbor, Luce, told me in her letter that Dad cried the day I got caught and sent to the Capitol. Mom was worse. She was so despaired that she couldn’t bring herself to cry. She blamed herself for what happened to me because she was the one who gave me the permission to leave the house. I was trying to steal a kind of special berry the Capitol grew, a berry that is the only cure to my old Gramma’s disease. It wasn’t easy to get my hands on it, I had to cross to the other side of the woods. But back then I trusted my instinct and I believed that I could get away with this. It’s either I take the risk or Gramma dies. Dad forbad me, of course, but I knew back then too that it was a difficult decision for him. Gramma was his mother after all. And so on Tuesday morning after he left for work I told Mom that I would be going around the the Hob looking for good trades. First she hesitated – of course she would, I was twelve back then, like Prim and Rue – but after a while let me go. It seems that I could lie convincingly. Then I quietly crept into the woods like I always did and set for the healing berries.

Let’s just say I was extremely unlucky. That very day the Capitol freaks decided to keep an eye on their precious berries, as if their extra-electrified fence and a few manmade creatures weren’t enough. Going through the fence was very risky, as it was more dangerous than the fence surrounding District 12, but I somehow managed to creep in. Before that I threw in some fresh meat with sleeping syrup to handle their hound-like creatures. Then came the lock. I almost managed to unlock it with my rusted wire when whissh, a hovercraft like the one I’m currently working in appear above my head. My untidy hair was flying everywhere and I couldn’t even see properly. All I could think of was ‘Run. Quick.’ Obviously, this time I did not make it. They dropped a net over me and pulled me up by my right leg. I wasn’t sure how hard I was screaming.

In the evening, the Capitol sent a few more peacock freaks to my house to inform my family that they captured me. They asked my family to not speak about this matter to anyone and that if anyone asked about me, just tell them that I’m dead. I’ve always thought that the Capitol people were the most heartless monsters in the whole of Panem, but then they made a shocking decision. I mean, it’s the Capitol’s decision. All letters from District 12 would be delivered to me, on one condition, that is I was absolutely not allowed to reply to any of them. The Capitol freaks were too afraid that any inside information about them would be leaked out. Hah, like I’m going to talk about the Capitol in my letters.

Luce was the first one to write to me, about three days after I was captured. She said my parents were trying hard to cope with my absence and I felt the worse guilt I ever had. Instead of trying to help my family, I had hurt them. In the end I didn’t even get the berries to Gramma. She passed away a month later.

Initially I thought that because of my offense, my tongue would be cut off, like most of the Avoxes. But I was a very quiet and steady person, I didn’t even try to escape (because I knew there’s no good doing so) and the Capitol saw something in me, though I don’t know what. So finally the only thing they did to me was insert a tracker in my body, the same ones they inject into the tributes’ arm. They even gave me an acceptable job in the house-keeping department and years later, ordered me to work in the hovercrafts to pick up dead bodies in the Hunger Games.

Two months after my capture, I received my first letter from Mom. She said that she’s sorry and that she loved me. I knew she cried while writing the letter because there were watermarks on the ancient yellow paper. I wanted to tell her that it’s okay, that everything was my fault and that I loved her too. But of course, there was no way I could write her a letter.

Mom wrote me approximately every two months. I kept them all safely in my drawer in my room, hidden below a biography of one of the ‘remarkable people’ of the Capitol. Through her letters I could see that her heart was slowly healing. She wasn’t as sad as before, and she even occasionally cracked jokes. In every single letter she would also include Dad’s message to me. It was after 3 years that she informed me she was pregnant with Katniss. Then four years later, with Prim.

Life was okay for me then. Until a month ago, when I found out that Katniss volunteered to take Prim’s place in the Hunger Games.

Mom then sent me another letter saying that she didn’t know what to do, that she don’t want to lose her child again, like how she lost me, even Dad. She made me promise her that I would try my very best to take care of my sister. ‘She is so much like you, Lia. You’d know it when you see her in the Games.’ She wrote. Turns out Mom was right. Although Katniss and I do not bear much physical resemblance, we shared many common characteristics. Through the monitors, I felt like I was watching a younger version of myself.

When I knew that Katniss would be taking part in the Games, I felt so helpless. I couldn’t get her out of the death arena, nor could I go anywhere near her to give her advice. Not that I am capable of giving any good ones, now that I think about it. So I did the only thing I could to help my sister – I begged my friend Cinna to take her in and be her stylist. I begged him to use every method he could think of to get as many sponsors for Katniss as possible. In the Capitol, Cinna is probably the only one I trust.

Cinna did not fail me. In fact, on the first day of the Games, Katniss and the Bread Boy were among the few who got the highest sponsors. I owed Cinna so much. I repaid him with a kiss and a confession: I revealed that Katniss was actually my sister. I had to keep this a secret because if the word gets out, I would surely be kicked out of the control room and forbid me from working in the hovercraft. Or worse, this time they might actually turn me into an Avox.

Talking about the control room, I had been watching Katniss from the very first day of the Games. I prayed for her everyday before I go to bed, even now. I prayed that the other tributes wouldn’t hear her footsteps, that her snares would catch preys, that she would never run out of water, that her aims would be perfect, that she would remain strong, that she would never give up.

There were also monitors in the hovercraft, and I looked for Katniss. She seemed exhausted, I bet she would probably crash on a tree soon. The other tributes were a good far distance from her. I smiled. I’ll always be watching you, Katniss. Don’t die. Mom and Prim need you.

I slowly leaned down towards Rue and kissed her on the temple like my sister did, and continued Dad’s lullaby, assuring Rue that she’s now home. Safe.

Hospitals

There are generally two types of people.

The first type of people are those who avoid hospitals because they remind them of the sicknesses they might be carrying. Hospitals make them doubt their own state of health. Hospitals make them think about the amount of pain they might have to go through before dying. Hospitals remind them of death in general. These kind of people believe that ignorance is bliss.

The second type of people are those who feel safe in hospitals because in there are the people who can cure them or make them feel better. Hospitals help them by detecting their unseen problems before they become deadly. And if something bad were to happen to them in hospitals, there are always people at ready to aid them. Equipments and professionals are so close to them.

It's all a matter of perspectives. What kind of a person are you?

Fear

//I wrote this essay for my English exam. I edited a few grammatical errors but other than that, this is exactly what I handed in to my teacher. The title is 'fear', and thus my post title.//

        Fear. It is as strong an emotion as the other four-lettered emotions we are familiar with. Love. Hate. Some people see fear as cowardly, others see it as something you feel because you still have things and people you love and need to protect. Sometimes, when the people you love and care about are taken away from you, you no longer feel afraid because you no longer have anything to lose.

        The antonym of fear is fearless. What exactly does being fearless mean? Different people define fearless differently. Taylor Swift defines fearless and not being afraid to have lots of fear. Veronica Roth describes fearless as the ability to act in spite of fear. I agree with both. Harry Potter was willing to surrender himself to the man who will murder him just to protect his friends. The old couple in 'Titanic' faced their fear together and just slept side-by-side instead of trying to escape the sinking ship. Ask yourself, are you fearless enough to do all of this? Some of you might be able to, others might not. I don't think I could get rid of my fears so easily. Who says books and movies don't teach you anything?

        I have a list of fears. We all do. But I bet mine is longer. Mostly, I am afraid of pain and death. How ironic it is, that I am afraid of the two most inevitable things in the world. Some people might think that it is ridiculous for me to fear death, since everybody has to go through it at some point of our lives. But maybe it's not death I am afraid of. Maybe it's the pain that comes with death. Very few people get easy deaths on Earth, and when I say easy death, I mean dying in your sleep. My mom said she hopes she can die that way. In her sleep. Painless. But dying in your sleep will really suck to the people who care about you. One day you are here, and the next, without a warning, you are gone. No one even gets to say goodbye. Not even you, the dying one, because you won't know that you'll be dying. It will scare me to death if I knew in advance when I was going to die. Pun not intended.

        Cancer scares me. Dying in an accident scares me. Getting stabbed in the stomach scares me. Falling off a roller coaster scares me. In the end you can just conclude that pain and death scare me. When I go to amusement parks, I always have this fear where I go on a roller coaster and there was a loose screw but the technicians did not notice it. Then the whole roller coaster structure comes tumbling down and I fall to my death. That is why I always avoid going on roller coasters. I also have this scenario formed in my head that when I go for a medical check-up, the doctor will look up to me with a serious face and inform me that I have cancer. That is why I avoid hospitals and clinics too. They remind me of the sicknesses I might be carrying. Well, as some people say, ignorance is bliss. Although in my case I'm pretty sure it's just me being a coward. My mom goes for all sorts of check-ups and she is never afraid. My mother is very brave.

        Injections and dentists scare me too. The more fears I list down the more pathetic I feel. I don't think my friends have these kinds of stupid fears. Those who wear braces go for dental appointments all the time. They have their permanent teeth removed. All I have to do is to be called for a scaling session and I start freaking out. Who knows, the dentist can accidentally drop a pair of scissors into my throat. Okay, now I'm just being paranoid.

        Anyway, I'm just slowly trying to get rid of my fears one by one, you know? I really want to overcome my fear of injections. It's dumb really, for me to be afraid of something which helps to immunize me from a disease, which is another one of my fears. Does it make sense? Am I confusing you? I hope not. Basically, I am afraid of cervical cancer but is not willing to go for the immunization jab because I am also afraid of injections. Ha.

        I know we both have our fair share of fears. My fears are not really something personal, so I don't mind sharing them with you. But I hope that I can get rid of some of them soon, and I hope you will too.

(P/S: I got 42/50 for this essay)

Cuts

Don't lay the blades on your wrists
It doesn't remove much of the pain.

Instead
Take what you feel
And put them into words.

Write it down
Scream it loud
Draw it out
Or simply
Scratch senseless patterns
Violently
On a piece of paper
With something permanent
Until the paper tears.