Suzy:
I slide, nervously, into the seat I've just been assigned to, making sure I don't faint before my butt reaches the seat. I half thank half curse at Mme. LeBlanc, which comes out as "Fu—anks". My partner chuckles, so then I'm forced to look at him. Dayvies McDonald, star of the football team, pride of the entire JHS. My gaze lingers a bit too long at him, and he decides to wink at me. I immediately duck down, making sure that my jet black hair creates a curtain between us.
A small folded note comes sailing across the room and hits me on the nose. Dayvies decides to take the note, but not before I reach it, so then he ended up having his hand on mine. Oh how I wished to, once again, half thank and half curse at Mary, my best friend. I glare at Mary, and then I open the note.
" it's SOMEONE'S lucky day! [;
—M. "
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Eating yogurt in the car.
The spoon lowers to drown to it's death, and scoop up a glob of the cold, creamy yogurt, then it rises to my impatient mouth, and slips through my awaiting lips, which then my gums clamp down, and my tongue devours the blueberry taste. The spoon then slips out silently, through the smiling lips. When the sugary taste has traveled to the esophagus, the process repeats, and the glob slowly disappears. 
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Story I've been working on for a long time.
I brush my hand over the smooth texture, shivering with it’s coldness, as I struggle to keep my memories to myself. I can still hear her voice, her laugh, feel her tears on my shoulder, her hand on mine as she dragged me along with her, which, at the time, irritated me slightly. But it is all just an illusion, she is no longer here, her presence only in my mind, sometimes blocked away, sometimes haunting me.
As I remove my hand from the arm rest and sink into the sofa, my mind lingers to a few years ago, when we were sitting together on the classroom sofa, when she still had that beautiful smile on her face. Flicking through many channels on the TV, something I almost never do, along with being sad, which is another rarity, I stumble onto a romantic drama. She adored romantic dramas, crying along with the main character, while I tried to seem interested, and I would sit there, somewhat awkwardly, because I didn’t know what to do.
Irritated with the limited choices of the channels, I turned off the TV, and got up. While I was looking down, I discovered a hard cover book under the sofa. Crouching down, and hitting my head on the table, I reached and pulled it out. As I was dusting off the dust on my jeans, I flip to the first page of the hard cover book, and start reading it. I can recognise the writing, the loops of her L’s, the messy ,yet neat at the same time, scrawl of her handwriting.
“Dear _______, I hope you have found this journal soon after I left. I want you to keep a journal, as lame as it seems. It will accompany you in your times of loneliness, and when you need something, it will be there for you, like how it was there for me. Please, do this for me? Love, _________.”
It’s unbelievable that she expects me to keep a journal, for she knows I cannot write to even save my life, but, I will do this for her. As I take out a pen from my pocket, then flipping the page, I feel the first wet, but warm, tear that rolls down my face, as I set the pen to paper. The memories are overflowing, yet all I feel is an eerie sense of loneliness.
Staring at the blank and serene page, I see a splotch, which is soon accompanied with another splotch, but this time, it is not from my eye, but from the vodka I just took a swig from. The first thing I write is the date, which is February 16, but with my blurred eyes, it looks like February 18, and February 15, two important dates, one marking the beginning, one marking the end.
(excerpt)
I’m going to start from the beginning, which was the day I walked into French class. Mme. LeBlanc gave us a seating arrangement by last name, and I ended up sitting next to this girl, who at first glance, I thought was the most normal and average girl, and had absolutely nothing interesting about her. When Mme. LeBlanc told us to introduce ourselves, the moment the words “Bonjour, Je m’appelle ____ , comment t’appelles tu? “ flew out of her mouth, with her perfect french accent, she caught my attention immediately, and I just knew we would be great friends.
I’m startled when my phone starts vibrating, interrupting me from my writing, The ringtone reminds me of the many times we used to chat on the phone, her beautiful voice on the other side of the phone, the whispering we did late at night, so our parents wouldn’t notice. It’s my mom, who is telling me to get buy some delivered pizza, and to save some for her.
After my mom hung up, I tried writing in the journal, but I couldn't concentrate any longer, so I decided to get up and put the journal in my room. As I walked up the stairs, and went into my room, I passed by my cork board, which still had a picture of me and her together. I sighed, realising that tomorrow is Monday, and that I would have to face _______ by myself. I may have other friends, but I never could talk to them about my feelings, it's just not possible. These other friends may try to understand, but they’ll never understand me the way she did.
The next morning I was almost late, since my alarm didn't wake me up. I refused to wake up from my dream, since in my half conscious state, I could see her again, her dark brown hair that framed her face, the little dimples she has on her face whenever she smiles, and those stunning sky blue eyes, which gleamed with curiosity, set on porcelain skin. She and I were sitting at the beach together, right next to the sea, so the waves would wash over her perfectly pedicured nails, painted with her favourite colour, purple, and that's when I admitted that I loved her ever since the first moment we met, and she also told me that she felt the same way, and then when we were about to kiss, my mother decided to yell , " ____ , get up already! It's 8, do you want to be late for school or not?! "
I flopped out of bed, and fell onto the journal that, at the time I didn't know, would contain all my deepest and darkest secrets. I decided to bring it to school, since I didn't really have any thing to do.
"Honey! You're going to be late, and you know you want to start the day in a good mood!"
Oh, if my mom only knew, I'd never start a day ever again in a good mood. I didn't want to worry her with my troubles though, she had enough troubles raising a teenage boy by herself, and working a day and night job.
------
I'm not done ....
As I remove my hand from the arm rest and sink into the sofa, my mind lingers to a few years ago, when we were sitting together on the classroom sofa, when she still had that beautiful smile on her face. Flicking through many channels on the TV, something I almost never do, along with being sad, which is another rarity, I stumble onto a romantic drama. She adored romantic dramas, crying along with the main character, while I tried to seem interested, and I would sit there, somewhat awkwardly, because I didn’t know what to do.
Irritated with the limited choices of the channels, I turned off the TV, and got up. While I was looking down, I discovered a hard cover book under the sofa. Crouching down, and hitting my head on the table, I reached and pulled it out. As I was dusting off the dust on my jeans, I flip to the first page of the hard cover book, and start reading it. I can recognise the writing, the loops of her L’s, the messy ,yet neat at the same time, scrawl of her handwriting.
“Dear _______, I hope you have found this journal soon after I left. I want you to keep a journal, as lame as it seems. It will accompany you in your times of loneliness, and when you need something, it will be there for you, like how it was there for me. Please, do this for me? Love, _________.”
It’s unbelievable that she expects me to keep a journal, for she knows I cannot write to even save my life, but, I will do this for her. As I take out a pen from my pocket, then flipping the page, I feel the first wet, but warm, tear that rolls down my face, as I set the pen to paper. The memories are overflowing, yet all I feel is an eerie sense of loneliness.
Staring at the blank and serene page, I see a splotch, which is soon accompanied with another splotch, but this time, it is not from my eye, but from the vodka I just took a swig from. The first thing I write is the date, which is February 16, but with my blurred eyes, it looks like February 18, and February 15, two important dates, one marking the beginning, one marking the end.
(excerpt)
I’m going to start from the beginning, which was the day I walked into French class. Mme. LeBlanc gave us a seating arrangement by last name, and I ended up sitting next to this girl, who at first glance, I thought was the most normal and average girl, and had absolutely nothing interesting about her. When Mme. LeBlanc told us to introduce ourselves, the moment the words “Bonjour, Je m’appelle ____ , comment t’appelles tu? “ flew out of her mouth, with her perfect french accent, she caught my attention immediately, and I just knew we would be great friends.
I’m startled when my phone starts vibrating, interrupting me from my writing, The ringtone reminds me of the many times we used to chat on the phone, her beautiful voice on the other side of the phone, the whispering we did late at night, so our parents wouldn’t notice. It’s my mom, who is telling me to get buy some delivered pizza, and to save some for her.
After my mom hung up, I tried writing in the journal, but I couldn't concentrate any longer, so I decided to get up and put the journal in my room. As I walked up the stairs, and went into my room, I passed by my cork board, which still had a picture of me and her together. I sighed, realising that tomorrow is Monday, and that I would have to face _______ by myself. I may have other friends, but I never could talk to them about my feelings, it's just not possible. These other friends may try to understand, but they’ll never understand me the way she did.
The next morning I was almost late, since my alarm didn't wake me up. I refused to wake up from my dream, since in my half conscious state, I could see her again, her dark brown hair that framed her face, the little dimples she has on her face whenever she smiles, and those stunning sky blue eyes, which gleamed with curiosity, set on porcelain skin. She and I were sitting at the beach together, right next to the sea, so the waves would wash over her perfectly pedicured nails, painted with her favourite colour, purple, and that's when I admitted that I loved her ever since the first moment we met, and she also told me that she felt the same way, and then when we were about to kiss, my mother decided to yell , " ____ , get up already! It's 8, do you want to be late for school or not?! "
I flopped out of bed, and fell onto the journal that, at the time I didn't know, would contain all my deepest and darkest secrets. I decided to bring it to school, since I didn't really have any thing to do.
"Honey! You're going to be late, and you know you want to start the day in a good mood!"
Oh, if my mom only knew, I'd never start a day ever again in a good mood. I didn't want to worry her with my troubles though, she had enough troubles raising a teenage boy by herself, and working a day and night job.
------
I'm not done ....
Self Dicovery.
So, I've been thinking. A lot. Apparently, I haven't been myself for a looooonnnngggg time. So, for the past 2 weeks or more, I've been trying to find myself again. You can refer to my description, how I couldn't find myself, right? Well, I think I found myself, or at least a tiny piece of it.
I've been living well, the life that I suppose, people would adore. A boyfriend, and talented best friend, close friends, the perfect balance between total loser and popular, just, normal. I don't know, I mean, I liked it, but it just didn't feel right, I wasn't having fun, like I did in grade 6. And oh, grade 6, I was a "total complete loser/weirdo who had like, 2 friends". Then in grade 7, I got seperated by these friends, so I made new friends. These new friends made me not so " total complete loser/weirdo who had like, 2 friends" , but I wasn't having a lot of fun. So then grade 8 rolled along, and I went with those friends I had in grade 7. Now, at around December, when I turned 13, well, I didn't feel so comfortable with this life, but I played along. Now, march, which is a new month, I think I absolutely CANNOT stand this.
My friends I met in grade 7, they're all musical oriented. It was cool, I mean, I liked music, I liked singing, I was cool with that. They're so much more talented, and stuff, and I don't know, I just tagged along. I suppose my personality became a lot like theirs too, being all mature ish, compared to when I was in grade 6. I could talk to them about my problems, I listen to theirs, everything was cool.
Now, I had a quite a long conversation with one of my closest friends in grade 6, and I realise that we're still really alike. I mean, a few weeks before that, I started writing randomly again, the afternoon before I went to chinese school, and I was really, really happy. 2 months before that, I wanted to find my talent/passion, and I felt like I found it when I started writing again. The sad thing is that none of my close friends now would understand, since as I said earlier, they live for music. I should also mention that things haven't been the best with them, so that was another factor. How me and that friend in grade 6 are familiar, well, I told her that I didn't know who I was [like I said for the description] , and she mentioned how I used to be crazy, which started my entire thoughts about self discovery.
Well, that's around it.
I'll be a bit more specific about who I'm " acting " as, and who I think I "truely am". Note the quotation marks, because I'm not 100% sure.
I'm a music lover. You see me walking everywhere with earphone plugged in, I'm listening to music all the time, it's what I talk about. Gossip is like, SO interesting, you find out everything about people. Even if I don't have the latest things, I do dress a bit nicely, since I don't wanna look so ugly with no style, but I've got limited resources. If you need someone to listen to you talk, help you or anything, I'm here (: .
I live for writing. I write every. single. day. If I could choose -----
Actually.
You know what?
I think all I need to do is start writing again, listen to music less, be a bit crazier -- WE'RE TEENS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. WE'RE ALLOWED TO DO SOME CRAZY THINGS TO LOOK BACK ON! . Oh wait. One problem. Some friends don't like to be so crazy. And no, I cannot leave them behind. And yes, I need your opinion. Whoever you are. [x
I'll mix my real self with my fake self.
I'll wait until grade 9 though, because there are slight problems.
Wish me luck? <3
thankssss ^^
-Ange (:
I've been living well, the life that I suppose, people would adore. A boyfriend, and talented best friend, close friends, the perfect balance between total loser and popular, just, normal. I don't know, I mean, I liked it, but it just didn't feel right, I wasn't having fun, like I did in grade 6. And oh, grade 6, I was a "total complete loser/weirdo who had like, 2 friends". Then in grade 7, I got seperated by these friends, so I made new friends. These new friends made me not so " total complete loser/weirdo who had like, 2 friends" , but I wasn't having a lot of fun. So then grade 8 rolled along, and I went with those friends I had in grade 7. Now, at around December, when I turned 13, well, I didn't feel so comfortable with this life, but I played along. Now, march, which is a new month, I think I absolutely CANNOT stand this.
My friends I met in grade 7, they're all musical oriented. It was cool, I mean, I liked music, I liked singing, I was cool with that. They're so much more talented, and stuff, and I don't know, I just tagged along. I suppose my personality became a lot like theirs too, being all mature ish, compared to when I was in grade 6. I could talk to them about my problems, I listen to theirs, everything was cool.
Now, I had a quite a long conversation with one of my closest friends in grade 6, and I realise that we're still really alike. I mean, a few weeks before that, I started writing randomly again, the afternoon before I went to chinese school, and I was really, really happy. 2 months before that, I wanted to find my talent/passion, and I felt like I found it when I started writing again. The sad thing is that none of my close friends now would understand, since as I said earlier, they live for music. I should also mention that things haven't been the best with them, so that was another factor. How me and that friend in grade 6 are familiar, well, I told her that I didn't know who I was [like I said for the description] , and she mentioned how I used to be crazy, which started my entire thoughts about self discovery.
Well, that's around it.
Actually.
You know what?
I think all I need to do is start writing again, listen to music less, be a bit crazier -- WE'RE TEENS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. WE'RE ALLOWED TO DO SOME CRAZY THINGS TO LOOK BACK ON! . Oh wait. One problem. Some friends don't like to be so crazy. And no, I cannot leave them behind. And yes, I need your opinion. Whoever you are. [x
I'll mix my real self with my fake self.
I'll wait until grade 9 though, because there are slight problems.
Wish me luck? <3
thankssss ^^
-Ange (:
Random. Again.
The first teardrop is what causes, well, the waterfall, and soon, a sea of tears.
- [ not an actual quote ]
I cannot cry. I will not. I cannot let this all out, for I know that if I do cry, I will become my old crybaby self, the one who cried over every single thing, the one kids laughed at at the playground.
Slowly, I count backwards, 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1... And I've gulped down my desire to just bawl, I get up from the floor and fix my hair like any other self respecting teenage girl would do, making it seem like nothing happened.
They say heartbreak hurts. I've heard countless songs on the radio, read countless stories, yet I fell for him, even though I knew he'd never, ever like me back. Glancing at the mirror, I swore I'd never love again.
My phone's ringing as I was about to put it away in my purse, and get into class. "Hello?" I ask, since I don't have caller ID , I had no idea who was calling. "It's Dave! How can you not tell?" Oh Dave, I would only let him say that, after all, he is my best friend. "I told you I had no caller ID, haven't we talked about this a million times?" I ask back, pretending to be mad. "Well it looks like someone's being a bit sensitive today, gosh Hilary, I was just joking!" He said, in a teasing way. Of course, I couldn't just let him know what happened right before he called, so I didn't say anything. "Hello? Hello Hilary?" Then I hung up on him and then sat back onto the bathroom floor.
- [ not an actual quote ]
I cannot cry. I will not. I cannot let this all out, for I know that if I do cry, I will become my old crybaby self, the one who cried over every single thing, the one kids laughed at at the playground.
Slowly, I count backwards, 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1... And I've gulped down my desire to just bawl, I get up from the floor and fix my hair like any other self respecting teenage girl would do, making it seem like nothing happened.
They say heartbreak hurts. I've heard countless songs on the radio, read countless stories, yet I fell for him, even though I knew he'd never, ever like me back. Glancing at the mirror, I swore I'd never love again.
My phone's ringing as I was about to put it away in my purse, and get into class. "Hello?" I ask, since I don't have caller ID , I had no idea who was calling. "It's Dave! How can you not tell?" Oh Dave, I would only let him say that, after all, he is my best friend. "I told you I had no caller ID, haven't we talked about this a million times?" I ask back, pretending to be mad. "Well it looks like someone's being a bit sensitive today, gosh Hilary, I was just joking!" He said, in a teasing way. Of course, I couldn't just let him know what happened right before he called, so I didn't say anything. "Hello? Hello Hilary?" Then I hung up on him and then sat back onto the bathroom floor.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Random .
It's 1 am , so don't expect anything from me.
----
Staring at those two swings, memories flutter across my mind, as if they were tiny little butterflies that I could catch, like I did 8 years ago. I stare at it, and remember my first reaction to the swings, and pulling on my mom's hand and telling her to push me, as high as I could, the closest thing to flying. I was 4, back then, when we first moved into the neighbourhood, and back then, I didn't know how important these swings would be, and what they mark in my life now. The next memory, when I was 7. Now, I wasn't the most social kid back then, but I knew how to make a new kid welcome. A little boy, my age, moved in next door, so my mom brought me with her to welcome them. Since I was such an obedient child, I obeyed her when she told me to take him around the neighbourhood. We didn't really hit it off, until of course, like all 7 years olds do, he decided to throw stones at me. Of course, after that ...
GOD I'M TIRED
I'M GONNA SLEEP NOW.
----
Staring at those two swings, memories flutter across my mind, as if they were tiny little butterflies that I could catch, like I did 8 years ago. I stare at it, and remember my first reaction to the swings, and pulling on my mom's hand and telling her to push me, as high as I could, the closest thing to flying. I was 4, back then, when we first moved into the neighbourhood, and back then, I didn't know how important these swings would be, and what they mark in my life now. The next memory, when I was 7. Now, I wasn't the most social kid back then, but I knew how to make a new kid welcome. A little boy, my age, moved in next door, so my mom brought me with her to welcome them. Since I was such an obedient child, I obeyed her when she told me to take him around the neighbourhood. We didn't really hit it off, until of course, like all 7 years olds do, he decided to throw stones at me. Of course, after that ...
GOD I'M TIRED
I'M GONNA SLEEP NOW.
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