dreadful & dragging ramblings on death

When I was younger, I thought about heaven and I saw clouds, the softest, fluffiest ones that greatly resembled cotton candy. They never gave way beneath my feet. I thought about heaven and I saw a place flooded with pure white light. I thought about heaven, but not hell; never hell.

I grew a few years, taller and bigger but still with the heart of an inexperienced child. I thought about death. Death scared my little hands into trembling and my heart hammering away in my rib cage. Lights off, I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark. My mind raced and my imagination flew heights too ominous for a child's innocent but foolish mind. I'd close my eyes and open them once again inside a closed casket, cold and alone, 6 feet beneath the living. My soul was trapped and smothered, mingling with endless filth and worms feeding on dirt and flesh. I was scared. I was suffocated. I would find myself arisen in reality again, gasping for air with silent tears streaming down my contorted face.

I was a child, still, when I first lost someone that mattered greatly. She was my grandmother, but not by blood. My parents loved her and so did the rest of the family. I don't think I had ever felt close to her, for I've never felt comfortable with grown-ups. But she was a good person and she mattered. Cancer slowly robbed the air out of her lungs and lay upon her a struggle, but there was always vivid life in her eyes despite her bedridden condition. I didn't cry when death took her. I shed only but a few tears during the wake when I saw people hunched over and sobbing for their loss. I didn't go the funeral. I knew she was going to heaven.

I've grown since then, but I am still but a child, fragile and small, against a world I haven't gotten to know so well, stretching endlessly for miles and miles and miles. I still thought about death and I found that the world was strange. People yearned for escape so they cut their lifelines and let themselves bleed. I've seen too much of it, read too much of it, heard too much of it and watched too much of it, that it wasn't long before life slapped me in the face and I longed to walk out of life as well. I realize now that I wasn't afraid of death at all. I was afraid of the casket and the lonely depths you were thrown into once they found that your heart had stopped beating and your body had gone cold and stiff.

One of the most haunting fears that lurked in my being and in my thoughts every single night when I couldn't sleep was losing people. I thought about losing people to passing time. I thought about losing people to careless words. I thought about losing people to unconscious but piercing actions. I thought about losing people to other people, but it only dawned on me how I could also lose people to death  and how it would hurt a lot more, crush me a lot more, and crumple me into nothing more quickly than anything else could.

You see, I have never lost anyone I held close during these years of realization and growing up, when your mind leaves your fantasies and your fairy tales for reality. I don't know how it would feel, or if I have the strength and emotional capacity to deal with it. Losing someone to the realistic and cruel side of life is....well, life. That's life. You can always brave the boundaries and the walls built up in order to fix things. You can always stand in the dark and watch from a distance. But death? How can one bear it? Never seeing someone except in immobile photographs? Never being able to hold them close? Never being able to wrap your arms around them in a reassuring embrace? Never hearing their voices, their laughter, their stories? And how does one move on without forgetting? How does one forget without fear?

i wanted to share this with you

Let Her Go by Passenger

Well you only need the light when it’s burning low
Only miss the sun when it’s starts to snow
Only know your lover when you let her go
Only know you’ve been high when you’re feeling low
Only hate the road when you’re missin’ home
Only know your lover when you’ve let her go

And you let her go

Sometimes, I wonder what you're thinking, or what you were thinking at some certain moment in time, or if you were thinking of me. I wonder how the gears in your head turn, if they're greased and running like a well-oiled machine, or scattered and broken, in need of repair. I wonder how your thoughts would look to me. Not just the thoughts betrayed by your guarded facade every now and then, but the innermost ones that have never been glimpsed, the dustiest ones tangled in cobwebs and old forgotten secrets, the darkest ones that hold your grudges, your hidden contempt, your broken pieces, and the flawed ones securely hidden in the deepest cages of your mind. I wonder if I'll look at you differently, then. Or if I'll look at you less.

Perhaps not, for, I look through a blind perspective and my conscience feeds on paranoia. I can only hold against you the subtlest of judgments and only when you start to be jaded and burned out, or perhaps, too high above the ground.

Sometimes, I wonder if you wonder about me. I hope you do. I hope you could take a look inside my mind, every hidden nook and cranny. You can stay there for as long as you like, but it's haunted as I am haunted.  I hope I could share my loneliness, but that would be unfair, then, wouldn't it? It's my misery, after all. But I hope you could see through my smile, into layers of dried up tears, old ghosts and fears. I hope I could show you how I think. I hope I could show you bits and pieces of me like how I cower when I see lightning strike but at the same time, feel connected to myself with the rain pounding away on my roof and the occasional thunder disturbing the placid disposition of the world during bad weather, or how I never miss the sun even on cold lonely nights when I cry with my shadow in an empty room. Maybe then you'll run away from the monster, that is me. But this world.... it is driven by hate, lies and endless cries, but nonetheless, by the loveliness of life. This world is strange. Maybe you'll stay.


But it's me. It's how I can't let myself melt into your delicate fingers. It's how I can't let the drifting wind carry my voice through your open window. It's how I live in fear of humans being...well, humans, walking away and  straying from the picturesque photograph that was the past, when everything else was said to be better. It's how I can't trust. It's this bitterness I've drowned in and the grotesque creature I've morphed into. It's me.

i miss you

You. Yes, you. 

Unless you're a complete stranger.

Hmmm. Or are you?

I think we've met before. 

I've met you in my past life, haven't I?

I can feel a ~*connection*~

Nah, I'm just bored.

But I miss you. 

You. Yes, you.

Unless you're Chryss.

JK I LUFF YOU CHRYSS!!!1!11!!1! 

i lilly lilly do. 

In other news, 

*insert emotions too unfathomable to plot on paper here*

hello there, sunday.

So today was a ridiculously bipolar day. Don't ask further questions. I don't want to relive even a second of it. On the bright side, though, I went school shopping!!!11!!1!11 School shopping gets me all hyped up 'cause I'm a dork like that. 

  

I just had to buy these lovely binders. It's ironic, though. I don't drink coffee, but I'm drawn to these cozy designs. I like coffee-flavored treats & that lovely coffee shop aroma clears my head. Oh, and coffee mugs. I like coffee mugs, too. 

mushaboom

1:29 am

3:14 am

This is why I'm friends with my friends. I've thought about it. I can't say that I like weird people at a single glimpse for the sake of straying from the norms, but they grow on you. They creep up and they plant themselves in an empty space, somewhere in your being, one that you never knew you had and then, you just wake up and realize that you wouldn't trade this one for the world. You also realize how you're not so ordinary yourself, but it's alright because no matter how much of a misfit you are, sticking out like a sore thumb, in this sick, twisted, stereotyping society, your strangeness is handled, somehow.

You get to not care what the cynics think, or the way they shoot daggers at you, and you get to listen to the few, better ones who have your back as well. It's a choice you have to make when you're walking down the street, surrounded by souls, cluttered and free-willed. 

skip this post {it's a rant, as always}

Allow me to pour myself out as I've been holding on to this bitterness for, oh, a year or so? 

I'm happiest when I'm with sprawled out in a weird position with a sketchbook, a pencil, and a playlist on repeat. I'm happiest when my hands start to hurt from staining my clean journal pages with my chicken scrawl handwriting. I'm happiest when I lose myself in a book. I'm happiest when I spend lovely late nights alone, or maybe with an hour-long phone call, making the nagging almost bearable. I'm happiest when I learn a new song on the guitar. I'm even quite happy when I'm at school, striving to ace a test, or trying to stifle my laughter during class, or bearing with unnecessary drama, but I didn't expect myself to get all worked up and bitter over a musical instrument deemed lovely in all its musical glory by thousands of musical geniuses. And indeed it is lovely and great and remarkable! I don't deny that, but the piano is honestly one of the deepest sources of my frustrations. Maybe I'm not on the right track of the learning process, or maybe I am what they say I am: lazy and unmotivated and no-good. 

I'm no-good at playing, I know. I'm unmotivated as well. Yes, I'm lazy. My room is messy and I don't bother to clean it. Yes, I'm lazy. I sleep late and wake up at noon and sit around, waiting for brunch to be served. Yes, I'm lazy. I'm a couch potato. And maybe I am lazy. Too lazy, indeed, staying up until 2 am to studying for a long test. Too lazy, indeed, getting worked up over one low score. Too lazy, indeed, stressing myself over academics, trying to build up a report card that will make you happy. Too lazy, indeed, that I still don't feel good enough.  

I don't know why I'm taking those remarks to heart. It bothers me that I do. Lately, though, I've been so frustrated. Imagine, taking lessons since 4th grade and I still can't even play a piece about "web-footed friends" or a mockingbird straight. I don't know to what extent I can stretch myself out this year. 

hi there

looks weird but....yeah

'cause i had a bad day

Keep Your Head Up by Ben Howard

Keep your head up, keep your heart strong

Keep your mind set, keep your hair long

• Trying to uplift myself from the dreary rut I'm stuck in at the moment.
• I fell asleep at roughly 3 am and woke up at about 2 pm. That didn't feel good. 
• I had a donut and some Piknik for lunch. I didn't feel good afterwards. 
• I've been having very vivid dreams for 4 consecutive days. They're bittersweet. I don't know how to feel. 
• I am having a throbbing headache and I'm starting to feel lonely again. 
• I feel utterly talentless when I play the piano. It frustrates me too much, and most of the time, I don't really like what I'm playing, but if it goes with learning, fine, I'll bear with it. 
• Forever in love with inanimate objects. They don't love me back. I'm bitter. 
• Cheer up. Your name is Joy. Be happy. 
• Who are you kidding, Joy? WHO?
• I have a neglected journal. It's calling my name. 
• I miss my friends. 
• I miss people. 
• I miss my friends. 
• I miss laughing so hard it hurts. 
• I miss my friends. 
• Ew, school next month
• But I miss my friends
• Summer, don't end yet. 
• Life, be kind.
• Universe, behave.
• I love you, chair. 
• I love you, bed.
• I love you, pillow. 
• I love you all. 
• Love me back xoxo
• Huhuhu 
• Here is sheer proof that I have no life.
• Lend me sweet dreams? No? Alrighty, then. G'night.
• Jk. I'll probably stare at the ceiling until 2 am. 
• Bye.

so call me maybe

Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen

Oh, uhm, I wasn't singing along to that annoyingly catchy version, though.........................





Notice to the public: 
 Sometimes, it goes like this....................
"This video contains content from Vevo. It is restricted from playback on certain sites."
LOL SO GO WATCH THAT ONE ON YOUTUBE.

woops do I sound mean?


Anyways, listen to this one, instead. 

Call Me Maybe (Cover - BBC Radio 1 Live Lounge) by Ben Howard

a dose of picturesque to feed your wanderlust

sloppy sketches {sigh, i tried}

This looks like a caricature. Wtf. Her arm looks deformed but be that as it may. I'm too discouraged to make amendments to that as of the moment. 

Sigh. I just feel very frustrated. I think I screwed up my canvas painting, and I'm having daily sessions for 2 weeks which means, I'll probably be reminded of my failure every single day until I get to bring it home and hide it. 

your skin is see-through

rattle your bones lose

break all visceral connections

don't let them see what makes you

you are just a mere savage

with no bullets to spare

you've got bombs against you

in this cold twisted warfare

but the world is in its awakening

blood courses through your veins

you're still alive

you're breathing

you're alive

so run

run for your life

save your soul 

before they take it

before you morph 

into something more grotesque

than what we've all become

look at us 

look at the monsters we've become

look at the embers fading in our eyes

look at our broken bones

look at our broken homes

look into my eyes

be afraid 

be hypnotized

look at me

when  i scream your name

when i shake you awake

when i tell you

save your soul

for you are a lovely creature

and this lonely world

{how lonely it is, indeed}

is nothing

but grateful to have you

{merely breathing and alive

in all your loveliness

in all of your flaws

in all of your perfection}

in it

{12:16 am on a monday}

• I've been out the whole day with my little family of three. Sunday mornings will always and traditionally be about waking up at 6 am, going to church and breakfast. From there, it either gets better, or plummets downhill. 
• Why is it May? And why is it June next month? Wasn't it just April days ago? Why is life passing me by? 
• Last few weeks of art workshop. Painting on canvas tomorrow. I should be excited but I'm not. I've figured it out. I want to do art at my own free will. I want to do it according to my own way of doing it. I don't want a uniformed or universal structure to follow.  I feel quite trapped following the proper drawing proportions of the human body, or having a schedule to religiously attend to, but I am more than happy to be learning. I'm happy to have all these illustrations to follow and look up to as I cannot rely on my own imagination to come up with the right things at the right time.  I'm happy to see my own hands filling up the pages of a sketch book that used to be blank, but I'm afraid that's what makes up most of it. Maybe that's what I signed up for. Maybe all I wanted was to bring a used-up sketch book and a painted canvas home at the end of the summer in order to feel accomplished and useful. Or maybe I still feel quite alone in the midst of all those people and kids who talk too much. Maybe I still feel awkward when someone looks over my shoulder to watch. Maybe I still dread the stiff necks I get from hunching over for too long. But I am happy, somehow, to some extent. 
• I'm sorry. I just poured myself out. Did that make sense?
• I don't know why but you are lovely. 
• I hope I dream the sweet dreams tonight, but just in case, could you dream the sweetest ones you could dream for me? 
• I miss a lot of things that most  probably wouldn't miss. 
• I'm not feeling so well. I should just sleep this off.
• Why do I slack off so much?
• Ugh, it's Monday. 

{in slumber}

Sleep knows me well

too well 

 it has roamed  the  dustiest corners

of my nervous system 

(and that's saying a lot, if i myself must say so)

it knows what i long for

what i longed for

it knows that my longing 

will be the death of me

it knows that it can kill me

in itself

but it has done something much worse

it has left me 

dying 

 in the most subtle way

this is the reason 

why i had no words left

when i woke up one day

at noon

conflicted

when i stayed under the covers

crumpled

when i never left my bed 

until the clock screamed

it was 5 pm. 

home alone {at 8 pm on a lovely sunday}

My little Mushu and I are home alone after a long day. 

No, scratch that.

 Actually, I had a long day. Mushu mostly just lazed around and dozed. 

 haha omg i look like a creeper lurking behind him lol

Because I'm bored and hyper and all alone. 

I've also got my own super moon right here! look! 

(lol but really I'm just quite scared to go up to the roof deck all alone woops)

for chryssie

Happy 15th. Stay lovely. I love you. 

{at 2 am}

You must have said goodbye last week when you hung up

I must not have heard when I lingered

You are a few miles away and you're breathing

But you are merely a soul in my sorrow

Life must have carried on for you when you bade farewell

It must have stopped for me when I started waiting

I didn't know what I was waiting for and I was lonely

I thought the phone would ring again

You must have fled from home where reality is cruel

I must have stayed and stared at the ceiling in the dark

Sometimes, I cried in front of the bathroom mirror

I could not sleep

You must have ventured and met the greatest of the generation

I must have stayed under the covers all morning with the creeps under my bed

I turned to the door to leave, car keys in hand

But then I stopped. I didn't know how to drive

You must have missed them

I must have missed you

But I said I missed everybody to make you feel un-special

I guess it didn't work

You must have gone ahead and changed and forgotten

I must have forgotten too because I was left wondering

If you had said goodbye when you hung up last week

If I had not heard when I lingered

I was pretty sure you did not, for all I heard was silence

Silence means consent

You must have thought it meant farewell

Playlist done on impulse, 11 tracks worth

Youth's only over if you let it fade from worrywart on 8tracks.