Bittersweetly, she knew all along
Yet she chose to unsee all the wrong
Indeed, beware of the deviant soul
Darkness wasn’t a keeper after all

Night Sirens

Probably one of the best text conversations I’ve ever been in.

Friend: The thought returned to me as I glanced at the starless welkin. What did the shadows say to the friend?

Me: Let a starless welkin signify that darkness currently envelopes that of which is supposed to brighten the night.

“Indeed. What stirs within its still embrace?”

“The night sirens whispers that they wish it was of substance in connection with merely of academic foundations but alas! It is not, and that makes these night sirens grievous.”

“Liars, these sirens be. For sirens exist only in the sea. Be brave. Perhaps true rest is key, how ever unwanted you think it be.”

Parallel

I’ll never know
Why rainbows disappear too quickly
Just when it looked so beautiful
You’ll never know
How I hold memories too dearly
Sometimes it feels too awful

I’ll never know
Who I am before you sleep
What I am when I’m away
You’ll never know
When I think too deep
It hurts me to fear you this way

I’ll never know
Why you only emanate in sadness
And fade when things are fine
You’ll never know
With you, I chose darkness
Over someone else’ sunshine

I’ll never know
The things I need to see
The truth I should understand
You’ll never know
The truth you should see
The things you could understand

I’ll never know.
And neither will you.

Writer’s Block?

Those moments when you feel small, pressured and paralyzed by rules. I need to write to feel, but without feeling I cannot write.

Finals is nearing and I am getting sad. I’m getting sad because people are expecting too much of me (and I, myself) when I am very pessimistic about my “talents”. I don’t even think I am talented. I am skilled. Not talented. There is a difference.

The most famous writers took them a long long time to have a breakthrough in their craft. They had to undergo a million failures before having one successful story recognized in all of their writing careers. JK Rowling was a rejected writer of many novels before she became one of the most idolized writers in our century with the Harry Potter series. But in time, it was fruitful.

But in design school, it’s different. I need to pass my plates. I need to meet my professor’s standards. I need to maintain high grades I’ve gotten from midterms for finals. I need to be creatively perfect. This is why I loathe the standards of society because this is what they put in our heads and we fear it. Society creates our demons in us. They expect students to be excellent in a short span of time and I don’t think I can do that. Not even two months of time can be enough to write a literary masterpiece and I need to be excellent and creative enough to deliver one in less than a month.

I am a visionary about a lot of things but I am not a creative genius. I need time that I don’t have. So God help me.

The System

I don’t expect anyone will understand what I’m writing. But I think I have developed a fear within me. A fear of conforming to what’s ordinary, what’s average and safe, what’s expected from society, what’s branded as the norm. And I can’t do anything about this thought in my head because I practice exactly what I’m afraid of. Even though I am just as ordinary as the next person is, and ironically and by human nature, I struggle to level with society’s standards too, I came to despise how we struggle to survive to be accepted in society. How we struggle to “fix” our crooked roads and get back to the “right” track, the track to what’s accustomed.

But what is the “right” track really? Anyone’s answer can never be valid nor invalid. The society’s ideals, beliefs and standards on what is “right” is not the universal law, it is not freewill either. It is something we created in our heads influenced by the many things and happenings around us.

I despise the fact that every time we reach a “stage” in our lives, we always know what to do next, one way or another. Or at least what we should do to get to the next “expected” stage in our lives because that is what we accept as the normal. After we graduate from college, we know what to do next, we get a job. If we don’t, we are judged and heavily criticized. Then we get into a relationship and get married, have kids, grow old and die and the cycle goes on. And it makes us happy once we are in level with society’s standards too. Why is it so important for us to be the same? We live differently but we go through the same paths until we die, or until we die trying to get there. Why can’t we make our own paths? Why do we say we are unique and different from others but still want to achieve the same things in life? Why do we end up doing the same things in life? I don’t get it. And I’m confused. I just don’t like how the world works. In this world already run by obvious information we call “facts”, rules, laws and sometimes, judgements, we are clouded by scientific reason and that there should always be a logical explanation to everything. And I don’t think there is a logical explanation to my question.

Nevertheless, I still question.

I don’t think I can ever get answers to my questions though, because I know no one can answer it. We are, of course, all the same, we think the same, we strive for the same things or at least we struggle to and we’re all part of a society that influences our every move. Or sometimes I think I just watch too much movies, read too many extraordinary stories or believe too much in the unaccepted and unknown that I think this way.

One thing is for sure, fuck the system and the cliché mentality it creates.

Pitch Black

The room was pitch black except for her illuminated face from her laptop. It was almost 3AM in the morning. She was at the brink of her bed, still having a very interesting chat with her bestfriend. She didn’t notice it but a figure was slowly shaping from the right side of her bed. She turned to her right and was horrified at what she saw. A foot from her was an eerie little boy in all white, his white face half-illuminated by her laptop, his bloodshot eyes was staring at the screen as if he was earnestly reading their conversation. She screamed and wrote what happened in her Imaginarium notebook to scare herself.

Boom.
It was all imagination.

~10.24.12.02.39~

Happy Halloween!!!! 😀