les miserables

pretty, simplistic things do not exist, for they bring a sense of happiness that is often temporary.
this is an extremely morbid way to begin an entry, especially pertaining to the title given, but then again, maybe life is not always about things being peachy. the reality is, most of the times, it isn't and we are compelled to pick the profound and immense darkness that fall like huge drops of the night sky melting beneath the moon.
everything remains quintessential in a world of typicals. the amount of kids dying each day because of hunger in africa. we are completely cognizant of such fact but then we never care, and every time we do feel the slightest bit of sympathy, it is, after all only sympathy. and sympathy in itself is not capable of feeding the hunger.
what is there to sympathy but mere chemical reactions in your body, alleviating feelings of remorse and guilt, building some sort of impenetrable sadness within your hearts.
what do the 2500 kids dying in africa each day get from our commiserations? are they even aware of the millions of hearts crying for them each day? and we sit still in our homes opening unicef online and seeing the pictures of kids smiling gleefully at pictures taken in full resolution, at villages developing with the magical touch of aid, but then just how big of africa do those pictures portray? how minuscule of a picture does it depict of yet a bigger, dying, part of africa that still remains undiscovered, and an even bigger picture of the world in demise. cambodia, vietnam, belarus, people are dying, everywhere in the world. suffering is prevalent, tears are inevitable. pictures say a thousand words, and yet there are a billion, even a number exceeding infinity, left of words that still remains, unwritten.
there is too much to cover, too much suffering to ever solve. suffering is inevitable. the amount of people dying of aids in botswana, the fearful populace of darfur, sudan, hiding from the scary faces of death, the kids left stranded, weak, and lifeless in the desserts of ethiopia underneath the scorching, deadly heat of the sun. there is never a solution, there won't be any that will solve all things. the world is meant to be in suffering, the juxtaposition of temptation and evil, and that is just a fact which we have to learn to accept.
nothing is ever so placid and easy. most of the things in the world do not have distinct meanings, in which we can ever fathom with our picayune perspectives, extreme lack in understanding, and exposure to the vast knowledge hidden in all the different corners of this world.
sometimes the world is just plainly black and white, there is no line in the middle, there is no gray. we have to do the best we can underneath all circumstances. and if it means merely sympathizing behind a computer screen, then you can do better.
however, the first steps are always the hardest.
i would know,
since writing this, myself out of mere sympathy,
i realize that, i still remain, the biggest hypocrite of all.

mi amiga

mi amiga,
such innocuous beliefs,
of skies that are purple,
of dreams that are tangible,
of ethereal existing

mi amiga,
what about the love that's unrequited,
tears that do not condone,
with feelings,
aggravating bits of existence

mi amiga,
the mistress of darkness,
soughts for placid truth,
beneath sordid humor,
underneath some masked gallantry

mi amiga,
chipped and stained,
broken and fixed,
shattered like glass,
stand on the broken pieces, with valiance so strong

mi amiga,
if love was too perfect,
if love was too beautiful,
if love wasn't a war,
if love always wins

mi amiga,
the melting seconds of time,
the dripping hot wax of the sun,
falling like giant drops of blood,
heat that transcends,
augmented tears

mi amiga,
tis all but naive
broken dreams once dreamt,
by the weaver of dreams,
me

mi amiga,
with apologies so sincere,
blunders this mind,
wavering on cloud nine

mi amiga,
thou shalt always remain,
happy with ecstasy,
shattered or broken
mi amiga

why is six afraid of seven?
it surprises me to see how hard it is for some people to make small talk.
i mean, come on,
we all know that
six is afraid of seven because seven ate nine
and worse yet, you don't have to repeat it every time i talk with you.
and yes, i know you're reading this, you should know who you are
we both know that even i make better jokes than you which is kind of pathetic, considering my extreme lack of humor.

and cheesy pick up lines never compensate; well most of the times :)

catch me when i fall

"before i fall, too fast, kiss me quick and make it last. so i can see how badly this would hurt me, when you say goodbye."- catch me-demi lovato

a million denials abound, and a thousand phrases delivered and yet not meant.
it is never easy being me,
not knowing whether i can find the sort of truth i am seeking within you.
like a sun melting, it's golden drops slowly dripping down the dark sky, like tears secreted when someone cries, you lure me into this acute world of beautiful feelings, smiles, laughter.
but are these things real?
or are they mere strands of an augmented truth, burgeoning to become something that will take over, all the corners of my heart.
you have the power to hurt me, just like that, you could
and i believe that someday you would.
you remain an enigma, something completely obscure.
i try to fathom your thoughts, i always do, and by now you should know that it is often impossible for me to ever understand what you're thinking.
i hide behind this masquerade of stolid humour and irascible demeanors, both of which were once statements that i only read about in books, but books, if not, stories comes alive. right now, if there is one thing i am sure about, that is it.
i hide the fear i have of once again being broken, of once again losing, of once again having recuperate from a brokeness underneath the heavy weight of lamentations and remorse.
i hide myself, and everything i am, so that you won't ever know, maybe because somethings are better left unseen, unfelt, untouched.
whatever is existing now, has the potential to go nowhere, if not, somewhere. the chances are endless, the existence of possibilities, a stretch longer than time in itself.
and there really is nothing left for me to do except let myself fall deeper, and deeper,
hopefully to find you somewhere down there,
catching me when i fall

a hiatus
i need to find solace and comfort in what is existing.
i need to know that i'm not alone.
i need to believe that there is never an instance when the world revolves around me, because it never will.
i need to find myself a way out of this incessant dreamland
i need to know that you're there
i need to understand that time changes all things.
i need to believe that practice makes perfect, at least, most of the times
i need to stop consuming one too many panadols, as it kills, as much as i want to deny it, it does
i need to stop needing too much stuff, because most of the times, they mean nothing anyways.

and once again, i am left alone.

shadows
i am your sister. i am the shadow that you hide in.
these sophomoric thoughts you have, i do not blame them.
your stolid conducts, and the inability of you to tell me what's wrong, most of the times, i thought was an inevitable part of you. it was the fine line defining our personalities. i was the one who talked when you would rather prefer silence as your form of loudness. your world is obscure. we live in tangents, our convictions leading up to the right direction, but never entering each other's hearts. we touch but we do not enter. we see but we do not understand. but one thing will always make us one, interweaving our thoughts and emotions, and yet slowly tearing us apart.
it is the thought that i make shadows, and in these shadows, you find the obligation to fall and follow.
you remain an enigma, and your thoughts are ones which i have always failed to condone. you surprised me and finally told me what's wrong. it was then did i finally realize that some things are better left unsaid. however, time is inevitable, and we cannot take back or disregard what has already been said. it haunts us like ghosts, when we try to deny. and living in denial is never easy, out of all people, you should be the one who knows best.
i do not exist to make you fall. i do not exist solely to be a shadow which you must abide in, all the days of your life. i do not live in one direction, i sway, i fall, i break, and sometimes i never want to get up. i make the biggest mistakes of all, and yet these never seem to matter, what matters is what you presume is perfection when really it never is.
my pretensions are often what you see as right. it is far more complex then becoming what i want to be, and even better. i want to be a psychologist, you want to be a brain surgeon. i read austen, you read dickens. i write poetries, you write whole stories. i play soccer, you play everything else.
it is all me to blame, for continuously painting this shadow. it is never more than a masquerade of perfection. i live in this acute world of plastic convictions, synthetic passions, and artificial dreams. they are all built on sand, ready to tumble down with the slightest bit of a huge wind, and then i'll have nothing left.
i remember those days when we used to be one. we would play monster trucks in the backyard, fanning ourselves with paper. as we got older, the nights were filled with endless stories, first crushes, first failures, first heartbreaks, first perfect grades. i always had stories of firsts, for i always did things first. i was given the immortal power of discovery, the ability to see the world, and understand it first. you kept quiet in these stories, because there are never instances when you were ever first. you remained second, in almost everything, regardless of the equal love our parents have for us, regardless of what the world thinks. you always remained second, as long as you continued abiding your existence within the presence of my shadow.
this thing that we have between us, it places an inevitable weight over the strands that intertwines us together. it leaves us completely bereft of the understanding that we should have, as brothers and sisters. our hearts remain impoverish and longs for the love that we should have for each other, as equals. not as competition but for once, as a family.
i detest myself for making these shadows. these plastic reflections that tricks you into following. it puts as much weight on me to always try to be perfect, and become a shadow that is worthy for you to follow. i am never that, not even close, but i try, and most of the times, i hope that i don't disappoint.
sometimes i wish that we could just live lives parallel to each other. that sibling rivalries never exist, and competition an unfathomable piece of understanding. sometimes i wish that you would just step out of my shadows, and become something different, something better, something wholly different than what i am. i loathe the boundaries that form between us as competition arise. i loathe being a mere shadow and seeing you fall because of it. i loathe the existence of shadows, deciding our fate, and slowly pushing us downwards to a state of emotional destitude. after all, shadows only remain, reflections of light, and nothing else. mere breeches of a venal and broken world.
there aren't any if's, these questions are inevitable.
but whatever happens, i know one thing's for sure,
i shall remain your sister.
and i will love you, no matter what.

enervated
sometimes i feel tired. and then comes the inescapable feelings of remorse and complete exhaustion
there is never enough words to describe all the feelings within me that often morphs into spectors, haunting me when i wake up, and luring me back to sleep with the ever so soft, sweet hymns coming out of the lips of death.
for i realize, that we can never be immortal. death often irks around the corners of our lives, it's sordid humor and blithe conduct, a complete vilification to whatever is right. it is the instigator of destruction, what abrogates life, it's deletrious demeanors, looking ever so innocuous, as it often does, to tempt.
death tempted me and i fell.
and when i fall, death foments me to fall deeper and never wake up. what is there to always being on the ground? a thought, if not, fact which i often fail to condone. for i am just a victim of death, of darkness, of there never being a happily ever after, of despair, despondency.
death continues to perpetuate these ingenue feelings as long as i let it to and pretend, if not, defy whatever is the truth.
the truth often hurts but i do not want to be wounded, and so.
the world begins to fall apart.
and then i am left feeling enervated, with the biggest wounds of all.

magical
i knew that he was magical from the moment i saw him
there was something about the way he looked at me,
if not, the way he looked at my direction. because who is to say that he did look at me. when you're perfect the imperfect matters no longer. but i was happy enough to see him and his magic.
i was in love. i had always been in love. a naive child, i was back then thinking that love is really something tangible. a four letter word, so simple, so beautiful. but then again, hate is also just another four letter word.
you see, i had never been a girl of impulse and surprises.
i lived life with utmost care, total and utter seclusion from the world that is existing.
i lived in a bubble, if you considered what i was back then living at all.
euphenisms abound, i was dead, and he brought me to life.
who was he then? and where did we meet?
i created him out of mere figments of my imagination intertwined into this magical figure of perfection.
yes, i knew what i wanted and we all want things that we can never ever receive.
there are times when fantasy is just better than reality, or let me put it this way, much safer and less hurtful than accepting the ugly truth of an ugly reality.
so i made him myself, this magical guy that will never exist. this magical guy of surprises, impulses, beauty. perfection.
he captivated, mesmerized. he took my breath away.
with him i am not myself you see.
with him, i allow myself to be overbearing, exuberent.
because after all it's all just pretend,
it'll never come true.
because when you live in some sort of cold bitter bubble like mine, you are incarcerated in some sort of fear. the fear of not being seen, of him not saying your name.
but i believe in miracles and magic
and that someday my prince will come, even if it takes forever.
so one day, as i was standing under the street lamp, my fingers intertwined inside my coat, cold from the snow, he walked up to me. yes, the guy of my imaginations, the guy of perfection, the guy of everything i had always thought of.
it was a surprise, it was a miracle just the way i like it.
just another one of life's surprises, the unexisting do exist, in a wholly different way perhaps, in a completely different time.
and so i told him my name.

something to think about

there is a saying, an heir and a spare.
it is, like so many things, controversial
and also, like so many things, worth talking about

in the poorer countries of the world, not to make stereotypes because it does occur within the more affluent societies as well, all of which most would probably not have heard of, let alone know, lives people who actually conceive following the philosophy of, an heir and a spare. This, needless to say, is one of the saddest understanding of life within the world today. i would include statistics, but most are made up on the spot as well, and sometimes things in life requires things far beyond the boundaries of numbers forming answers to prove theories or existence, sometimes all we need is an open window, to see the world that is hidden beyond the boundaries of our safe and enclosed confinement.

the big question in short is the rightness of conceiving children as a benefit to the other, or simply, whether it is just to have children just in case the first one dies or to somehow support the life of another. who is valued more than? which child is loved more? does not conceiving one child for the benefit of another, a selfish act imposed on the child at birth and a controversy in equality? because if a child exists solely for the benefit for another, if not, in lieu of the other, and the other one dies, would that child matter? and if it turns out to matter, would the death and the once existence of the other child matter the same way? would anything truly matter?

it depends on how you see it and like so many other things in this world, remains answerless, at least for awhile.

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"and being a girl could be about interest rates and skinny jeans, riding bikes and wearing pink. not about any one thing, but everything" - along for the ride, sarah dessen