I miss you, my monster.

It’s funny how in some of my darkest moments I do not seek comforting words nor kind embraces, but instead yearn deeply for a fiery anguish that I once fought against. I never wanted to be by your side when I was forced into your hands. I never did like you all too much when you were the biggest thorn in my life. I’m still not quite sure I like you now. Still, strangely enough, I miss you.

I’ve always thought of you as a monster: dark, and filled with all the frustrations I compounded within you; hollow, with no possible understanding of all the sorrow that I was consumed with; terrifying, because I always running away. So I’ll continue to call you monster.

Without me, you were worthless. With you, I was the one that felt that way. I felt like there were impassable barriers  – that I just didn’t have the talent to become your master. There was so much I wanted to express, but I never found the right notes to do just that. Always, always, I felt an insurmountable desire to give up. Always, always, I was forced back into your hand. I despised the redundancy of repeating the same melodies over and over, memorizing the movements as if I were just a machine. I just wanted to play new things all the time, but I knew that would get me nowhere.

Though sometimes, nowhere was okay. Nowhere was a safe place to be. I would slam the keys and cry my heart out, realigning the hard-pressed edges of my life. I would release every angry thought in a flurry of chords played fortissimo, pressing down the pedal so that everything meshed into one amalgamation of harshness. It was best when the house was empty, when I could immerse myself in some desperate melody. Though sometimes I just didn’t care, even if everybody outside could hear this disgraceful use of an instrument. Maybe a part of me wanted everyone else to see you for the monster that you were. The monster that you still are in my mind – because the memories never fade.

As much as I hated you then, I miss you now. I miss the sensation of release, of mindlessly pouring out my emotions as if you could absorb all the terrible things that I was feeling. I wish you were here in this cold, callous city to warm me with frenzied passion. I wish you were here to allure me to sleep with the gentle lullabies I always liked to play. I wish you were here to I could go through a stack of music and find solace in something more beautiful than I will ever create.

I…I have nothing more to say,

but I miss you.

crescendo

For every second with you was absolutely brilliant, every moment imprinting on my heart. Days filled with laughter and sparkling enthusiasm for all that we were. Days we never wanted to end.


surprise and awe

feelings that come rushing back to me

when I remember the first time

that I saw you who you really were

 

taken aback

by your honest demeanour

you always spoke what was on your mind

and it was my pleasure to engage

in our miniature debates

though you always seemed to have the words

to answer my ripostes

a clever tongue and quick to speak

how could I not be captivated?

 

the summer sun paved the way

for the adventures we embarked on

from the soft sand beneath our feet

to the fireworks in the sky

with you, I came to realize

that the city that I had grown up in

was more delightful

than I had ever imagined

 

autumn came

with leaves in gentle drift

and the comfortable warming taste of chai

we watched in silence

as the glittering array of orange and gold

unravelled its beauty around us

 

under the veil of changing seasons

we found ourselves transformed

from our awkward beginnings

into the best of friends

those days I spent wishing

that it would never end.

138 – Throwback to happier times.

image

There was a pin making station at Exam Jam today. I, of course, couldn’t resist making one.

Really filled me up with nostalgia.
Brought me back to my high school days.

To that time when I was volunteering for Marpole Community Day with Jibek and we made these silly spinning paintings and I got Nick and Patrick to make me a pin even though it was meant for kids and volunteers weren’t supposed to be making them (to be fair, they made some too…). Besides, we’re all kids on the inside, right? Well, at least I am.

Also brought back memories of that time when I was at the night market with Tiff/Cece/Win/May and we made a bunch of pins because there was nothing better to do there. Felt like we were kids again – kinda like how we were when we all got together in 1st grade.

Those were happy times.
Times when we could be carefree without the worries about our future.
Moments we could enjoy with the little that we had.
Moments that make life worth living.

These thoughts make me happy
A little homesick
But happy nonetheless.

I miss these moments and I miss the people I had them with.

But they will surely come again.
Because happiness is and will always be a driving force of our world.

126

Having really weird vivid dreams lately.
In one, my father had me something along the lines of imprisoned and working for him. It was frightening. Thinking of ways to escape but not knowing where to go or how to survive in the world. I was impoverished and alone. Took a while to shake the fear from the dream away (a few league games).

Yesterday’s was even more weird. Was playing really expensive “board games” with Rachel, Kevin and JV (I miss you guys, I guess???). Like really expensive though.  We were buying tickets for like $90. Gambling maybe. Then we went in this underground tunnel. There was a train.  It was dark. I don’t think this dream made much sense plot wise. I attribute it to the fact that I just finished reading all 143 chapters of Tokyo Ghoul last night. The ending was unsettling (slightly different from the anime), but I’m interested to see what happens in the sequel. Will probably write my thoughts on the whole thing when the sequel ends.

On a happier note, I went out for dinner at the Harvest Kitchen with a couple of friends last night. Most of the CSU crew – Tanya, Mohamed, Amanda, Anastasia (although she won’t be part of the exec after all since she was accepted to med school… in her third year… gosh I’m jealous but also happy for her) – and Nick (a classmate/friend from inorgo chem).
Had vegetarian meatballs (so there was no meat in them) which were yummy and filled me up more than I thought they would. Had a glass of white wine also (we were deceived thinking $1.11 per oz was cheap as it amounted to $8 for a cup).
I actually felt a little tipsy from the alcohol though and that’s rare considering I can’t really metabolize alcohol (stupid genetics). Was a nice night full of fulfilling conversation and interesting stories. Planning to do it again next week with Summerlicious starting today (it’s an event where pricier restaurants make affordable menus for us less fortunate folk).

Went out for lunch with people in my lab today. Had udon in this fairly small shop. And although I had to leave before they finished making our takoyaki, I thoroughly enjoyed the lunch.
Udon brings good memories.
Like the festival from Japanese school.
Like the really good udon place in Hawaii we all fell in love with.
Like having hotpot with family.
Really warms my heart.
So I’m happy.

Don’t you remember?

Hey, do you remember

the long line of people

waiting to buy their tickets

for a movie just released?

 

I still remember

the escalator ride up

the wait for our tickets to be checked

buying popcorn at the recession stand

walking into the theatre

ticket slip in my pocket

finally finding seats

the excitement when the ads finished playing

for it was

Spiderman 3

 

I remember

pulling my knees up on the seat

holding your hand in moments of suspense

feeling disappointed when it was over

because it meant we would have to leave

 

I remember

walking out of the theatre

before the credits ended

running down the stairs

playing a few games at the arcade

conveniently underneath

 

I remember

going home to fall asleep content

because movies were a rare treat

 

I remember it well

all these details in my mind

 

So why do you not remember?

I refuse to believe it wasn’t real

I refuse you to believe you weren’t with us

that it wasn’t your hand

I grasped for safety

 

I want someone to tell me you were wrong

and that you just can’t remember

 

Because this was us

happy

together

as a family

 

I won’t have this memory

any other way

I need to believe in this feeling

need to believe that

Mommy

you were there.

 

—————————–

Just a memory I can’t shake off. My mom told me she had never watched a movie in the theatres with my brother and I until this summer (she watched Harry Potter with just me). There’s this feeling in my heart that insists she was there. Spiderman movies were a family thing. Mom, bro, and me. 

Little Me

if I could hold the Little Me

whose shoulders sagged

with harsh adult realities

whose tears stopped running

because she was too exhausted

to sob anymore

and whose eyes stared defeated at the ceiling

arms and legs curled up beneath

a tear-soaked blanket

trying to make herself smaller

and disappear from the radar

of the stinging sadness

that was her world

 

if I could hold that Little Me

I would show her colours

vibrant velvets

exquisite embers

alluring aquas

and shivering shades

of purples and blues

and allow her to discover beauty

in the most unexpected

of places.

 

if I could hold that Little Me

I’d let her sleep on my lap

as I hum a small tune

and describe all the wonders

of slowly watching the sun set behind the mountains

and wishing upon the stars that come hence.

 

if I could hold that Little Me

I’d kiss her forehead

and pinch her cheeks

and tell her someday

happiness

will become greater

than sadness.

 

oh Little Me, why couldn’t you notice before

all the little wonders that awaited at your door

Little Me, Little Me,

walk into the world happily

you’re not alone, but it’s okay to be on your own

sometimes the best things

come from the unknown.

28 – The Bookworm Part of Me

When I was younger, I used to look upon novels as my best friends – my portals to different worlds. I didn’t like the world I saw around me. The books offered me an escape. A different reality. In books, I could reinvent myself – become a character of some sketched out fantasy, some adventurer of a distant land. I could slay dragons, chant spells, or simply enjoy a walk along the river alongside a lovable companion of some nature.

I ravaged my elementary school library. Literally. I read anything. If it had words in it, it was mine to read.

I was a lover of the I Spy series, I liked to spend my lunchtimes in the library just looking for objects among the pictures. A friend of mine would always accompany me. I miss her. We don’t talk much anymore. I flinch a little when I see her running by in the high school hallways. We used to be so close.

I read the typical elementary level series such as the Magic Tree House, The Series of Unfortunate Events, How to Train Your DragonDr. Seuss, Harry Potter, et cetera, et cetera. I enjoyed them and they kept me company through summers of idleness – summers when I didn’t do much but sit around at home. I was never really active with my friends.

There was this one phase in grade five, I believe, when I became completely obsessed with animals and nonfiction. That year, I indulged myself in biology – picking up facts about animals from a couple dozen of nonfiction books. I squealed on and on about Emperor Penguins. And when we were forced to watch March of the Penguins, I was one of the few who was genuinely engulfed in the film. A good documentary, it is. Completely captivating.

I bought myself a little encloypedia of animals around the world. I still reference it to date. I adored dolphins – knew every single thing there was to know about them. Not that I remember much now. I always liked how Killer Whales weren’t really whales but actually dolphins called Orcas. Everyone else called them whales – I knew in my heart they were dolphins. Not that they’re not from the same family anyhow. I remember reading a couple of books on amphibians and reptiles – learned a little, recited a lot, and forgot it all now. I was also particularly fond of horses and bunnies. I liked to draw them in my free time. I can still pull off a pretty good sketch of either now.

In grade 6, I discovered the author love of my life: Shannon Hale. When I first picked up The Goose Girl, I figured it’d be like any other book I’ve ever read. I was, of course, severely wrong. The book captivated me – the female protagonist posessed so many characteristics I could relate to, so many situations I could really feel the emotions to. I fell in love with the book, recommending it blindly to anyone. Not that anyone else really got the same experience. I idolize her. She became the inspiration that propelled me to write fiction, to indulge in fantasy. And so I did. In the same year, I discovered Stravaganza – another series that blew me away. I fell in love with the genre of fantasy. Of alternate worlds.

Finally in grade 7, I floated back down to Earth. I normalized myself. Stopped reading as much and worked harder to fit in. I kind of regret doing that now because slowly it caused my tendency to read to just drift away. In grade 8, I discovered manga. Graphic novels. V for Vendetta awoke a love of comics for me. Manga like Fruits Basket enticed me. I left the world of the written word for the word of graphics. I’ve never really gotten myself back into a state of adoration for reading. I’ll try again this summer. See what happens.

At the moment, I am very much infatuated with Margaret Atwood after enjoying The Handmaid’s Tale and Oryx and Crake – two lovely books that brought out my love for dystopia. I now focus a lot of my writing and thoughts into that genre though I’m not sure if this is for the better or for the worse. I am also very much in admiration for Ellen Hopkins and her poetic style of novelling. Crank brought in a whole new world for me. Identical being my favourite. I still read a lot of manga, being a total introverted otaku at times seems to suit my soul. I’ve read over a thousand manga in the past four years.

People change. And nothing, nothing can change that fact. I’ve happened to change a lot over the years and reflecting on the past like I have in this entry helps me remember and rediscover myself. I love nostalgia. In fact, I’m addicted to the sensation. Memories…are more than just memories to me.

So kind adventurer who dared to read till the end of this post, do share with me your own story. Flood me with nostalgia – tell me about your own struggles with the written word or the graphic world or any another world you wish to discuss. I’m listening.

 

 

—tumblr: books, books, and more books.