Category Archives: love
The silent Mayhem of beautiful Minds
Never in his life, did he thought too much about romance, until he met this woman who made him wonder whether it’s hysteria or love. He debated his way out of this comedy in his head, thinking it’s impossible that it’s the latter.
No, how could it be?
How can someone you just met a few days make you feel heavy in your heart but ironically makes you want to feel the feel of it? He asked himself this question in his head while she talked about the book she was reading and threw some lame jokes he labeled as boring. Well, that’s just his way of teasing her—to battle against the strong wind that brings him closer to her, like she’s a destination. A place destined for him to live in, or perhaps maybe a home. But he fights it, he fights the urge to look at her more than just how he used to look at girls.
She rolled her eyes and turned her back as a sign of unspoken surrender of losing a debate with him. And then sighed a deep sigh for an ambiguous picture of a future together. With her right hand sandwiched between her right cheek and her soft comfy pillow, she looked past the window and wondered how many girls he had slept with. With his charm and wit, she bet he could’ve easily made his way through their hearts, like how he managed to do with hers.
But ofcourse she would never admit it, she was quite smart enough to know it’s wrong to tell him how safe and heavenly she felt sleeping next to him and observing how his soul of masculinity seemed to overpower his femininity—in the sexiest ways of humanness. No, it’s wrong, what if she scares him away?
She liked him, well, she likes him very much but she feared the idea that he doesn’t like him the way she does.
Little did she know, that he cogitated more than she did as he studies the artistic view of her naked flawless back when she turned around. He wondered how come he’s so drawn to her, not just with what her skin shouts, but more with the language her eyes speak that required neither words nor voice. He wanted to trace his fingers from the abstract beauty of her nape down to the edge of her spine to savor the perfection of it but hesitated for a split second because he thought he should just play it cool.
Or should he, really?
Would it hurt much if he would make an exception? He thought, maybe she wouldn’t mind so he stopped battling against it and moved as close as he can, spooned her with his warmth and breathed near the outlines of her left ear.
The hair of her skin stood like it’s being magnetized by a powerful invisible sense as he embraced her from behind. He whispered something to her but she didn’t mind listening—the beats of her heart was louder as it raced like there’s a zombie apocalypse, like she should run for her life, or should she?
Isn’t this moment something she would want to freeze if she could?
Wrote this at almost 2am here in Iceland, ugh I couldn’t sleep 😂
The meaning of it all
She closed her eyes to feel the warmth of the words that were too excited to escape. Words that have been jailed for quite a while, words that she kept to herself they ended up battling too much in her head. Ironic as it may seem, no matter how much she wanted to get turned on by the sensuality that writing usually gives her, she refused the treat—for she thought she didn’t deserve it.
“It’s not about “deserve”, it’s about what you believe.” -Wonder Woman
And despite of it all, all the mess and the war, she still believes in the power of love. Love that she puts in every work she does, no matter how many times she had failed herself or even others. She loved every splash of ink, every bit of ideas, every little sense of magic, every foolish mistakes, and everything that helps her create.
And that’s the point being.
You love it so much sometimes it hurts.Due to the unavoidable expectations that punch you in the face and the ineluctable, poisonous presence of fear that chokes you until your out of breath. You love it so much you want only the best. Not realizing that the more you love it, the more it’s tougher to get. That the best is yet to come, only if you strive to be better first.
And it’s okay. To struggle, to lose sight of direction and momentum. To sometimes experience a tremendous imbalance of emotions. It happens. For when you chose to take the road less travelled, you have to understand it’s much harder than the rest, that you will cry more often and it’s triple the pain. Many times you’ll be wounded, you will fall, you will be deceived—that’s because you do what you love and that you love what you do. You may rest from time to time but never throw away what you believe in. If you believe in love, keep it with you all the time and go back to it each time you get confused by the decisions you’ve got to make. Love always finds a way, always.
And it’s when you start to indulge the wild taste of darkness that you appreciate the brightness of the rainbow that’s meant for you. So don’t stop and take it all in. The meaning of it all can only be found by you.
Photo credit: Pinterest
“Have courage and be kind, Darling..”
My mother used to tell me this when I was little. Back then I couldn’t really fathom its depth, neither what it meant to me, nor how it would have an impact in my life. Until a surprising event altered our lives—and my life as an only child.
Let me tell you a short story. A story of my life.
My mother was a chain-smoker and a frustrated writer. She didn’t get to publish her creations, but to me she was the best writer in the world. She has written countless fiction stories that she would read to me during bed time. She’s so creative, her imagination is limitless. She told me I was her inspiration, that most of the qualities of the protagonists in her stories are the ones she hoped I would have one day when I grew up. Sadly, I didn’t get any of them. I grew up disappointing her for being the girl who did not possess such character of a princess of strength. I just couldn’t be who she wanted me to be. I tried, but I failed. Expectations unmet, promises undelivered. I promised her I will continue what she has unfinished. That I will write stories that will change the world. But I couldn’t, I just couldn’t do it.
She would usually say, “Write a novel and put your heart in it. A fiction with words that would speak of love and inspiration.” Not the exact same words and tone of voice because for sure, she would have said it better. She’s my idol, but I despise the idea that she smokes two pack of cigarettes a day. She said that it helps her become more creative, hence I wasn’t able to do anything to stop her.
Unfortunately, it has taken its heavy toll on her.
Fast forward to today, my mother couldn’t even remember me. She has Stage 4 breast cancer and dementia, as per the doctors, which they said has nothing to do with her smoking that much cigs. How come? And why her? Every single day from the time we found out she was very sick, I have anticipated the nightmare of losing her and being alone. I’m scared, really scared. Nevertheless, I’m happy that she’s still with me, that I could take care of her, even though my Idol in her was now gone.
She would usually call me Ella or Mina, some of the girls from her stories. And then last night, I came home and saw her lying in her bed, staring blankly out of nowhere. I took advantage of that moment to study her, to remember all the memories we have shared when she was still sane. I felt that pinch in my heart, like a stab in the chest, but no blood came out. I then wished my mum comes back, even just for a short while, I murmured.
And even before the tears run down, she looked at me as if she’s calling me to come right beside her. So I did. I held her hand and closed my eyes as I rub them in my cheeks. My way of telling her how much I miss her and her bedtime stories. And when her left hand brushed my hair, I could no longer hold the tears from falling. They fell hastily like a bird who needs freedom. I freed all the tears my eyes could release. And she spoke to me the words she would always tell me when I was young:
“Have courage and be kind, Darling..” she wiped my tears and smiled after saying those words. My wish was granted. My mother’s sanity was back, she’s back and she remembered me!
Ah, really? Guess not…
“Ella, call your father and tell him the dinner is ready!”, she said in peremptory fashion, just like how Ella’s mother in her stories would do. I just sighed in utter frustration. Subsequently, she kept on coughing non-stop, I quickly prepared a glass of water and searched for her meds—there I saw a bunch of them scattered in her drawers. My mother has been cheating, she hasn’t been taking her meds all this time. Guess she really wants to leave, to leave me, and she left me with such words that used to be blurry.
That same night, she closed her eyes, so peacefully I could almost see an angel giving her wings so she could fly.
And now that I’m alone, I get it. To have courage and to be kind would probably be the only thing I could instil in me, and this time, I won’t disappoint her.
I promise, Momma, I will have courage and be kind. Always.
(This story was inspired by the Cinderella movie I just watched an hour ago through Fox Movies Channel. The title was mentioned several times it got stuck in my head I had to write it down this way. Thanks for reading!)
Image source: Pinterest
Over-flawed skin, pure strength within
She perused all her parts,
there she saw a woman full of scars.
Scars that mirror the wars she fought
and flaws naturally scattered in all sorts.
No filter could fit, to really cover them zits
But don’t you know she’s loved for it?
Loved for these scars she can never delete.
A manifestation of absolute valour,
with her vibrant eyes focused on the colours
she never capitulated though odds weren’t in favour.
Battled ’til the end, despite carrying no armour.
She’s truly a woman with an “over-flawed” skin,
but such, with pure strength within.
Waiting in vain
Scared, i told you I was scared.
Guess you didn’t care,
You drove even faster,
And then slower—then you stopped.
In this snow-filled endless path.
Shivering, i told you I was shivering.
But you didn’t listen.
Deep sigh released, seatbelt unfastened.
You opened the door, then you said something;
“Leave”, you asked me to leave.
I was stunned, now what should I believe?
A promise—you promised you would stay,
“I will be with you no matter what”, all those years you say.
Why then are you leaving me this way?
I was angry and I still am—everyday.
Each time it snows, I remember that day.
The day you left me alone, now I’m full of disdain.
Though deep in my heart, I still hope and pray.
Wishing you would come back to me again.
But I’m scared… baby, I’m scared again.
What if I’m only waiting in vain?
A million thanks to my dear friend, Lloyd who captured this exceptionally beautiful photograph above that he took in his hometown in West Virginia (if I’m not mistaken) several hours ago. I had to borrow it from him ’cause just by merely staring at it, ideas within me are provoked to burst out effortlessly. Click the link below (or his name above) should you want to witness incredible form of art and photography. See it for yourself. 🙂