a raw collection of words from my heart

9.2.14

two-oh-one-four


“There is such a place as fairyland - but only children can find the way to it. And they do not know that it is fairyland until they have grown so old that they forget the way. One bitter day, when they seek it and cannot find it, they realize what they have lost; and that is the tragedy of life. On that day the gates of Eden are shut behind them and the age of gold is over. Henceforth they must dwell in the common light of common day. Only a few, who remain children at heart, can ever find that fair, lost path again; and blessed are they above mortals. They, and only they, can bring us tidings from that dear country where we once sojourned and from which we must evermore be exiles. The world calls them its singers and poets and artists and story-tellers; but they are just people who have never forgotten the way to fairyland.” 
-lucy maud montgomery, story girl-


i am awake before dawn, when the creases in the sky threatens to spill light and a lone star glistens overhead. there's something magical about the time before dawn. everything is quiet except for a solitary rumble of a distant car. the wind dances through the trees, making queer rustling sounds that remind me of the rustling of silken dresses. i make myself a very concentrated mixture of spicy apple cider and golden honey just to wake myself up, which burns my throat, but leaves a pleasant, tingling sensation. if one could taste sun rays, i would wholeheartedly vouch that it would taste just like that.

then i sit down to think about twenty fourteen.

i've always loved the story girl. she's one of the main characters in montgomery's book of the same name. she is dreamy, wistful, bold, passionate, loving, unpredictable. she thinks in colors, in shades of the rainbow--no wonder life is rarely dull for her. she speaks often of the golden road, a road that children can easily find, and adults rarely walk. then i realize with a start that this year begins my seventeenth year. one more year to college, three more years to twenty. it's almost time for the golden road to end and a new road to begin. but maybe, just maybe, if i try to remain a child at heart, i'll be able to visit the golden road again and look upon everything with the simple wonder and awe of a child.


twenty fourteen, i don't know what you'll bring, or what little surprises you have tucked up your sleeves.
but i promise, i'll make the golden road last for as long as i can.


late new year reflections, just because || 

4.2.14

within the cracks of sunlight



i met someone the other day. her name was failure, and she cruelly reminded me of how incomparable i was with others. i missed the passing mark by so little. yet she still showed up, determined to tell me how much i had missed the passing mark. how much my clumsy fingers floundered at various artistic skills. how terrible my expression of music was. how i couldn't do anything right.

i met someone else the other day as well. his name was bitterness. he followed me just long enough to harbor on the what failure had sneered at me. just long enough to plant that dreadful seed. no more, no less. he wasn't at all rude. he was so kind, and understanding. sympathetic even. but what he told me about others and myself hurt me far more than failure could.


know that the pull of bitterness and failure is strong. so, so strong. don't ever let them get to you like how i let them get me.
because once that happens, it's hard to forget what was once easy to let go.


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nobody means anything, but they feel like everything. they feel like a myriad of relentless piercing throbs starting the deepest, darkest corner of my heart and spreading through me like wildfire, passionate and uncontrolled. it causes the lump in my throat at terribly inconvenient moments, and it takes everything i can muster to prevent the tears. but sometimes i can't, and i hate it when that happens.

i don't even know where difference is between me, and the illusion of me being who i am not.


i guess it all started when i tried to be someone i wasn't.
when i looked at myself and hated myself for being me, and closed my eyes to the true meaning of loving myself as His beautiful child.

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i used to imagine sunlight in the shades of dust. how much dust i can see when the sunlight filters through. dust made the light pretty for me, and gave the light perspective. dust is very much unwanted (cleanliness and hygiene-wise). but it's so fascinating, and i can't help loving the unwantedness in it. call me crazy, or laugh at my oddness, but i can see the magical touch dust has on sunlight.

you know how the sea draws back suddenly at low tide, leaving all these debris exposed on the sand? i feel just like that. the cover i've hidden myself under is unraveling, exposing the mess of me. it's not a pretty mess, but it isn't ugly. there's something akin to beauty in that tawny bits of wood lying around, in almost symmetrical scatters. and the rustic glory of the pale, dusty sand.

is fascination with the unbeautiful messes of life good? sometimes people think it's crazy, but maybe that is just because they don't understand.

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sometimes pouring my thoughts helps me understand why i made choices, and why things happen.