Sunday, March 31, 2013

the wrong path

today, I feel like writing again. 

I just feel like recent events were all bad choices. 

My stuff got stolen, then my friend found a home that was cheaper and better, 
and I just realized I lost a sum of money. 
Luck has not been on my side lately, and life is just not working out for me. 

I went to Brighton the other day and I saw the my uni's art department. 
And today, I saw a girl who just got accepted to Tisch School of Arts at NYU.
What am I doing here?

Why am I pushing myself into doing I so half-heartedly want to do?


Sometimes I wonder, am I walking in the right direction?

Is this the path I would choose for myself?

Is this truly, truly what I want?

I don't know. 

Everyone has dreams. 
And everyone would want to achieve their dreams.
I have dreams of losing myself in colours, and paint.
I have dreams of petals, ruffles, and neverending swirls in a thousand hues.

I have dreams of painting translucent wings, butterflies, pink clouds and gushing waterfalls.


I have dreams of studying art, but I did not want it bad enough.

I guess having dreams doesn't mean that if I strayed from my path, my dreams aren't fulfilled.
Who knows, in the future, that my dreams would suddenly crash onto me.
And what I do now would interlock with what I want to do.


We don't only have one dream.
Dreams do come in plural for a reason.
We can't have everything we want.
But we could work for those that we really need in our lives.

I guess we'll see how my life would turn out to be.
I've made a decision.
And I want to live through it.

This is my dream.

At least, for now.


Tuesday, March 12, 2013

stop. listen.

Here I am.

After so long.

I just felt like writing this down. Not because I want to relive this memory over and over again.
I guess I just want to think about you again. As I write, I feel like I'm reliving my past all over again.
They say that if you keep thinking about the past, you're only moving backwards.
But to me, thinking about my past, helps me move forwards, in quick strides.

I still think of you after so long. Sometimes I still wonder what is so magical of you, that made me so intoxicated. It felt as if I've been in darkness for so long, and then you came along.
You weren't the light that saved me, my own sorrow did.
But you were the poison, the drug that gave me vivid hallucinations of sunlight.

Time draws on and on. And every new life that I've started, a part of my past is being dug up to share.
I've kept you a secret for so long. You were a part of my past that felt to good to be shared.
Because, I'm afraid that if I've shared that past, I would never move on.

Other times I wondered to myself, even if I did share things about you.
What was there to talk about? There was no drama, no returned affections, no scene to replay.
Only simple words from you that now barely seems like whispered echoes, disappearing each day.
And I could only hear fragments of that sound, so distorted by time.

It is not so much of memories of you that I wanted to relive, but the way you made me feel.
The same particular level that we stand on,
like a thousand stairs for a thousand people, but we shared one step.
I still think of your words, your writing which inspired me.
All of which were part of the drug that held me down for so long.

Everytime I think of someone else, I'd still think of you.

Wonder how long will that go on before I admit that you were just another new single word in my book.